DC Heroes: MechWarrior 1
by Darth Yoshi
Summary: In the year 3020, Thomas Wayne, Archon of the Gotham Commonwealth, and his wife are murdered by an unknown MechWarrior. Ten years later, the Archon-Prince Bruce decides to pursue justice on his own.
1. Prologue

DC Heroes: MechWarrior I

By: Christopher W. Blaine

e-mail: darth_yoshi@yahoo.com

DISCLAIMER: Battletech™ , MechWarrior™ and all other related characters and situations are ©2002 by WhizKids Corporation. Batman™ and all other related characters and situations are ©2002 by DC Comics Inc. All previously copyrighted and trademarked materials are used in this story without permission for fan related, non-profit entertainment purposes only. This original story is ©2002 by Christopher W. Blaine and may not be reproduced in any form, in part or as a whole, without the express permission of the author.

Prologue 1 Gotham City, North American Continent 

**_Earth (Reality 900.45.XY (2.785 Allens from Prime Reality))_**

**_Sol System_**

June 16, 2002 

_My name is Walter West and I am the fastest man in creation. _

_That isn't a boast; it's the truth. Go through time both forward and backward, hell, you can go sideways too if you want, but you aren't going to find any single speedster that can keep up with me._

_Unlike so many others who take up moving at super-speed as a way to do good, a part-time profession or even as a way to get rich quick through villainy, I have to run. I run not only for my life, but for everyone else's as well. I have to outrun the mind of God, keeping just one step in front of the walls of existence before they come crashing down._

_Yeah, I'm Walter West…but I'm also called the Flash. Of course, some jerks refer to me as the Dark Flash, which does hold that air of mystery about it. Too bad I'm not in the business of trying to impress people._

_Years ago, I was engaged to be married to a wonderful woman named Linda Park, only a terrorist named Kobra killed her to get to me. It worked; in fact it worked a little too well. My mind snapped and I killed Kobra. I went to Savitar, then the most powerful speedster on the planet, and convinced him to teach me the "ways of the Force", the Speed Force that is. Savitar taught me every last dirty trick there was until I surpassed him in skill and raw ability. _

_Then I killed him as well._

_I wasn't finished, though, and I started killing not only other villains, but my fellow heroes as well until a day came when I confronted Wally West, the Flash from the Prime Reality. I can't tell you how hard it is to realize that you are a carbon-copy of the original. That everything you know is nothing more than a reflection in the mirror. Wally was living proof that I was the "could-have-been" of his life. What made it all the worse was that he was in my reality trying to save his Linda Park, whom I mistook for mine raised from the dead._

_In the ensuing battle, Wally and I merged our molecules for a brief instant, but it was enough to knock some sense back into me. It also appeared that I had accidentally killed him in the process and so I left for his reality to take his place, trying to honor him as best I could._

_It was an excuse, a sham to keep me from facing justice on my own world. The farce didn't last very long because Wally was not dead and the Justice League of America pointed out that my continued presence outside my reality was causing the two existences to merge. Ghosts, really just projections of duplicates from my world, began to appear all over Earth and mass-hysteria was beginning to ensue. _

So I left, determined to find my home, but without my Linda as an emotional anchor, I had no way to find it. So I have vowed to keep running and mapping the expanse of time and space until such time as I found my world to face justice. It's a death sentence, I know, because either I face lethal injection or I'll simply run myself into the grave. 

_It's better than what I deserve._

The Flash stopped running and came to an instant halt in what was supposed to be the center of downtown Gotham City. The buildings reflected a modern style, but he could see an occasional hold over from the gilded age with a new sign slapped on it. There were cars of all makes and models, from decrepit station wagons to over-sized stretch limousines. 

Newspapers and other debris, so common in any large urban sprawl no matter the world he was on, swirled around his feet as small tornados lifted up the trash. It was almost like a ticker-tape parade for him, a welcome befitting only the greatest of heroes. For just a moment, he imagined what it must have felt like for Caesar when he triumphantly returned form Gaul and entered Rome proper.

It would have been such an event if there were any crowds to cheer him. The silence made him shiver as he realized that this city of millions had only one occupant, himself. As he took in the scene, he began to see the telltale signs of what could only be described as instantaneous disappearance. Cars were smashed into each other and a truck had run through the front window of a department store. He was surprised to see anything left standing as he supposed that there would have been massive fires as vehicles careened into each other.

He started walking this time, more out of astonishment than anything else. His abilities allowed him to perceive things normally even when moving faster-than-light, but there was something to be said for just slowly taking things in. He noted a fire truck parked down the next block, fire hoses laid out from the truck and a hydrant. They had long lost their water pressure and were now strung out on the ground like the skins of prehistoric snakes. In front of them were the burned out remains of several vehicles, which told him that maybe things happened a little more slowly then he had first guessed. 

Crossing the street, he saw he was now in front of police headquarters and there was a newspaper box. Vibrating his finger, he passed it through the lock and stepped back. The disrupted molecules of the lock blew it apart moments later and he then opened it and pulled out a paper. The headline read that the Rapture had occurred. Walter doubted it; he had seen too many odd things in his travels to pass it off as Divine Intervention, though he would certainly welcome such a simple solution. He scanned for the date of the paper. It was four years old assuming that this world had a dating system similar to most of the others he had been on.

He took a few minutes to read several articles in the paper, absorbing as much history as he could before he made some preliminary notes into his digital recorder. He had taken to analyzing every world and making comments, in case it could ever prove useful. The end of this world had been bleak, confusing and horrifying. It had started with the disappearance of all of the world's heroes and the rise of the villains as masters of the planet.

The villains, however, could not decide on who should lead and a war broke out between the factions of Dr. Sivanna and Lex Luthor. It appeared that by the date of the paper, Sivanna had been winning, but only barely. There were several references to a major battle that had occurred in Israel where the forces of Luthor, under the command of the Weather Wizard of all people, had confronted Sivanna's elite strike teams under the control of Mr. Freeze.

Before he could read any further, he felt something shoot by his head and he turned. It was moving very fast and had it not been for his enhanced vision, he would have never seen it. It was a globe, white in color, appearing to something like a tennis ball. It moved out to a twenty-foot perimeter where it was joined by several more, all appearing to be identical in shape and construction. When they moved in to surround him, the Flash moved outside the circle to stand behind them.

The globes reacted much faster than he would have thought possible and they took up a position around him again. The Flash arched an eyebrow, determined to see just how fast these things were and turned towards the west coast. Running at just under mach-2, he turned to see the globes hot on his trail. He pushed his speed, nearly hitting light speed and still they remained with him.

The Flash snorted and guessed that while the globes were fast, they probably weren't too bright and just as he cleared the Rocky Mountains, he made a 90 degree turn. The globes reacted, but were several miles away before they could arc into the direction needed to pursue the Flash. By then it was too late because the Flash was coming at them.

Opening his link to the Speed Force, he concentrated on removing the kinetic energy of the globes, essentially stopping them dead. The excess energy that he bled from them would be dumped into the Speed Force where it would be channeled into whatever speedster required it. He passed by each globe and without even touching them, made them like so many stones. They fell to the ground with small thuds.

The Flash waited a few moments to see of they would self-destruct and when they didn't, he cautiously picked one up. It was smooth on the outside and was made from some type of material he was unfamiliar with. Of course, science had never been his strong subject so he doubted that even if he could identify the subtance, it would hold very little meaning for him. 

He turned it over and was surprised to see a manufacturer's address on it as well as several trade regulatory marks. The little globe vibrated in his hand and he could tell it was trying to do something and so he tossed it away. Just before it hit the ground, it fired a laser at him. His reflexes allowed him to avoid the snapshot and it struck a nearby tree. The Flash watched as the tree shimmered, turned purple and then faded away.

The Flash approached the building slowly, again walking, but with guarded steps. He did not want to be shot by one of those globes as he had no idea what the effect would be, but he was sure it wouldn't be pleasant. He was surprised to see the lights on in the building, as he could not imagine how electricity could be generated from power plants that had stopped operations years before. He supposed it was possible that there was another answer, some alternative energy source, but it did not change the dismay he felt at seeing the appearance of life coming from within.

The door to the front lobby was unlocked and he entered to find the air clean and sterile from being just slightly over air-conditioned. The floors gleamed from a fresh coat of wax and the plants appeared healthy and a quick check showed that they were not plastic. The only sign that this was not some Garden of Eden was the stack of magazines on the lobby table. All of them were several years old, even older than what you would expect to find in a typical waiting room.

There was a front desk and he approached it and rang the bell that was marked to be used to get service. From behind a curtain, a blonde haired woman, wearing a blouse that showed more meat than cleavage walked through. She smiled and the Flash noted that she was too beautiful. He scanned her for any defect, too much make-up, a mole, a stray hair or blemish. There were none. Her form and dress suggested someone accustomed more to the bedroom than the front office. "Good afternoon, how may I help you?"

He could detect no accent, nothing to tell what part of the country she was from. She leaned in, giving him a good look into her shirt. Her head was quite close and much to his shock, she whispered an offer of sexual delight that almost made him blush. Immediately, he stepped back and raced across the room as she pulled a pistol from under the counter and shot at him. Vibrating his hand just as he had his finger for the newspaper locker, he moved across the room and ran it through her torso.

He was already racing down the hallways by the time she exploded. When she had leaned it close and whispered to him, he realized he could not feel the heat of her breath. That meant she wasn't breathing. That meant another construct, only this one was meant to lead him into a false sense of security. Twice he had been attacked and twice he had gotten away. He hoped his luck would continue to hold.

It was moments later when he reached what appeared to be the administrative offices that he started to get some answers. In the hallway stood a massive robot, dark black in color with a single cycloptic eye. The eye regarded him and began to glow purple. Before it could shoot, he moved out of the way and tried the molecular disruption technique. 

His hand bounced off of the robot's armor, deflected by an energy shield. Pulling back his bruised hand, the Flash realized he was within the grasp of the machine and barely managed to jump away as a four-fingered claw reached for him. The Flash dropped to all fours, wincing as his hurt hand hit the floor, and crawled underneath the robot's legs. Coming up behind the robot, he started to try to run, but was felled by a blow to the back. 

He crashed into a table, a flower vase breaking on his head as it fell over, dousing him in water. The Flash cursed mightily, using a variety of words he had learned in his adventures and stood up. The robot turned and shot its eye laser. The Flash was up and out of the way immediately, plunging through the sheet rock of the hallway and tumbling into an empty office. A laser blasted through the hole, hitting the floor just beneath his feet, but did no real damage.

The Flash ran again, bursting through yet another wall in an attempt to put some distance between himself and the robot. Behind him, he could hear the heavy footsteps of the machine as it pursued him and occasionally a blast of purple light would streak by. He guessed that the machine was missing him because it was trying to guess where he would move. "Too bad I don't want to comply to your programming model," the Flash said as he reached an adjacent passageway. 

The robot's hand reached through the wall just behind the Flash and grabbed him around the neck. It squeezed, but not too hard. The Flash attempted to vibrate out of the grip, but the robot's arm vibrated as well. "Cute," he said, finally giving up for the moment. "So, are you going to kill me or what?"

"I prefer 'or what'," the robot responded in a voice that while mechanical in tone, had a sentient feeling behind it. The robot's faceplate opened up and the Flash saw something small moving from inside it.

The small creature was no bigger than a few centimeters in length, green and black on color. It wore spectacles that seemed far too large for the ungainly human-like eyes it had. It was a worm, and the Flash felt nauseated while looking at it. 

Around what would have been its neck was a microphone that the Flash guessed was tapped into the robot's main speaker. "I assume you know who I am?" the worm asked.

"Mr. Mind, criminal worm and escaped fish-bait," the Flash answered, suppressing a shudder as the worm started to move down the robot's arm towards his trapped head. "I suppose all of this is your fault?"

"I wish I could take all of the credit, I really do," Mr. Mind replied. "Thadeus, Dr. Sivanna to you, was mostly responsible. He came up with the idea of altering the quantum signature of the world's heroes."

"You've lost me," the Flash replied, gritting his teeth as he formulated his escape plan. Mr. Mind drew even closer to his face.

"Ah, just as I suspected. My sensors told me that your signature paints you as someone from outside this dimension. You have no idea what happened here, do you?"

"Duh."

"You see, we combined forces with Mr. Freeze to capture the world's heroes and then we froze them. Like packets of frozen vegetables, we loaded them onto ships capable of crossing the dimensional barrier and pop, they were gone." Mr. Mind smiled triumphantly. "Of course, I realized that when we gave them new quantum signatures, it would create a new reality for them, most likely drawing in components of the nearest alternate reality. I could go into the theory…"

The Flash smiled. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't." He waited until the worm was almost touching his nose before he spoke again. "So you took all of this world's heroes and just dumped them into Hypertime, fully understanding that you would be creating an alternate reality? A little too complex if you ask me."

"Do you know how many heroes return from the dead? Better to move them to a new neighborhood than trying to destroy them?" The little worm grinned. "Of course, Sivanna and Luthor then tried to take control of the world and it turned into a mess. In the end, I had to get rid of all of the humans."

"So I suppose you rule over everything else?"

"There are so many other worthy species on this planet…"

"Worms, right?" The Flash did not wait for Mr. Mind to respond and instead jerked his head forward and bit the worm in two. The robot's grip instantly released and it powered down as the Flash fell to the floor, the wriggling half of Mr. Mind lodged between his teeth. He spit it out and then vomited on the floor. He continued to do so until he thought he would simply turn inside out.

"God damn self-important insect! The whole damn planet?" he stood up on shaky legs. When Mr. Mind had approached, he had noted that he was also wearing what could only be a remote-control device for the robot. The only way to break the link was to destroy the transmitter. If only he could have gotten an arm up and around.

It didn't matter; no matter how intelligent Mr. Mind had been, he wasn't human and certainly had not been fit to have a soul. Still, the Flash hoped he was roasting in hell or had demon-birds chewing him up to feed to their babies…

He slumped against the wall, pondering what to do. Another reality created…mixed with copied portions of another. It made sense. It certainly explained why time sometimes moved at a different rate in different worlds. But it did leave a nagging question: where did the heroes go and should he try to bring them back?


	2. Chapter 1

DC Heroes: MechWarrior I

By: Christopher W. Blaine

e-mail: darth_yoshi@yahoo.com

DISCLAIMER: Battletech™ , MechWarrior™ and all other related characters and situations are ©2002 by WhizKids Corporation. Batman™ and all other related characters and situations are ©2002 by DC Comics Inc. All previously copyrighted and trademarked materials are used in this story without permission for fan related, non-profit entertainment purposes only. This original story is ©2002 by Christopher W. Blaine and may not be reproduced in any form, in part or as a whole, without the express permission of the author.

Chapter 1 Justice City New Gotham 

**_Gotham Commonwealth_**

May 12, 3020 

"Father, when will the throne be mine," Crown Prince Bruce Wayne asked. The Archon of the Gotham Commonwealth, Thomas Wayne, looked down at the eight-year old heir to House Wayne. The dark hair and wide-eyed expression was so much like the boy's mother that he couldn't help but stoop down and give him a hug.

"You worry so much about the responsibility of power that you do not take the time out to have fun," Thomas said as he picked the boy up.

Bruce laughed. "I do have fun, father."

Thomas tickled his son. "And what, pray tell, does a young prince do for fun?"

Bruce gave a high-pitched wail of pleasure and squirmed in his father's grasp. "I play war! I pretend I'm in a BattleMech and bringing down the evil people!"

Thomas stopped tickling Bruce and set him down on the ground. Immediately the boy thought he had done something wrong and his face displayed his sorrow. Thomas sighed and took Bruce's hand, leading him up the grassy hill. "Son, war is not a game and BattleMechs are not toys. There is nothing fun about people dying, even if they are your enemies."

The reached the hilltop and were given a birds eye view of the military compound below them. This was the home of the 1st Gotham Knights, the premier unit in the whole of the Gotham Commonwealth. It was the unit that Thomas Wayne, as Archon, commanded and it was the unit that Bruce would also be expected to lead when he assumed the throne. "BattleMechs are machines of destruction, and nothing good ever came out of destroying. We arm ourselves only to protect our people; that is the ultimate responsibility of House Wayne. That is something you must always remember."

"Then why do you fight if war is bad?" Bruce asked, his young mind struggling with the moral dilemma.

"Because if I don't then who will? The common people cannot hope to stand up to the forces of our enemies." Thomas was silent for a moment and then pulled Bruce as he began to go down the hill. "Come now, your mother will beat us both if we don't get back."

They were racing each other by the time they were halfway down and Thomas let the boy win. Bruce jumped up and down, yelling to the sentries that he was faster than the Archon. The soldiers smiled and laughed until Thomas gave them a stern look. The noncoms immediately went back to attention, but the old Gunnery Sergeant in the guardhouse just smiled and lit up a cigar. Gunnery Sergeant "Slam" Bradley had lived through too many battles to be frightened of an ass-chewing, even if it was by the Archon.

The father and son team were allowed through the gates without further incident and walked along the road that lead to the BattleMech hangers. BattleMechs were the ultimate evolution of the fighting machine, the full expression of man's desire for war and conquest. Standing some ten meters tall and weighing up to 100 tons, bristling with PPC's, missile launchers, autocannons and lasers, they were giants that strode the modern battlefields. 

When they reached the hangers for the command lance, the four 'Mech unit that Thomas was assigned to, Bruce was thrilled to see his mother, Martha, standing next to her HNT-4f _Huntress_, going over the latest maintenance reports. He ran up and hopped into her waiting arms. "Bruce, you smell like a pig! Where did your father take you?"

Bruce began making "oink" sounds and Thomas shrugged. "We went for a run."

"In the middle of a day like today?" she shook her head and put her squealing son down. He jumped up and down and begged to go look at his father's 'mech.

"Don't try climbing into it, do you understand?" Thomas called to the boy, but he was already inside the hanger and out of earshot. "He likes to play war."

She shivered. "God, I hope not. I hope we can leave him an inheritance free of that." She handed over the maintenance report. "I'm still unable to convert to fighter mode."

Thomas scratched his head. The _Huntress_ was one of his own designs, a newer machine to help supplement his already stretched forces. For three hundred years, the five Successor Houses had been battling each other with utter savagery in three separate "Succession Wars". The entire idea was that whoever could defeat the other Houses could assume the throne of the Justice League.

When mankind had left Terra, or Earth as it had been called then, it had been with the intent to extend the dominion of the planetary government. It had worked up until it became apparent that Terra could no longer control all of the planets. The Inner Sphere, those hundreds of worlds that had been colonized, began to form their own governments separate from that of Terra. As such, ruling Houses came to be formed.

House Wayne ruled the Gotham Commonwealth and they were currently emgaged with House Hol of the Thangarian Combine. The war was senseless, but Thomas had no choice but to fight it. If he didn't, he would surrender worlds he had sworn to protect to what he considered to be a fascist dictatorship.

Several centuries before, the Justice League had been formed to bring the different governments together under one banner, to ensure that all disputes and arrangements were carried out equally. It worked for several generations until three hundred years before Thadeus Sivanna had staged a coup and murdered the First Lord. Only through the efforts of General Jonathan Kent was Sivanna overthrown and peace restored. 

But only for a short time.

"Well, dear, you do know that these Land-Air 'Mechs are troublesome," he offered as an excuse.

"Fine, you pilot my _Huntress_ and I'll take your _Batman_." She put her hands on her hips and he noted that even after ten years of marriage, she still looked like headstrong Captain who had beaten him during then annual Gotham Games. She had been piloting an old model _Spider_, while he had been in an even older _Jenner_. He should have one except she had cut him off at the end of the obstacle course.

She had won the day and his heart. "Your machine is the wrong color."

She looked up at the black and purple paint scheme. "It matches the bruises you're going to have if you don't get them to fix my 'mech, Mr. Archon with a degree in 'mech design!"

He was about to answer when the attack klaxon began blaring a warning of impending doom. His personal communicator buzzed. He pulled it out, seeing the worried face of his wife. "This is One, go ahead."

"Sir," came a panicked voice. "We've got an unknown 'mech tearing up the armor training command out here in sector 14. My computer cannot indenti…" Static hissed through the speaker.

Thomas pointed to his wife and then to her machine and she nodded, pulling off her coveralls to reveal the cooling vest and shorts that were the common uniform of the professional MechWarrior. Because of the intense heat that the BattleMech's fusion reactor gave off during operation, wearing anything more could mean a quick and painful death from flash cooking or heat exhaustion.

"Three, this is One, Two and I are going to investigate," Thomas yelled as he made his way into the hanger bay.

A man's voice with a distinctly non-Gotham accent answered. "That is not advisable, sir. Four and I are only minutes away."

"Negative. Those trainees can't stand up to even a scout 'mech with those training rounds. We're the closest and already moving," he lied as he grabbed the rope ladder that led to the cockpit of his _Batman_. He was strapped in and going through a fast start when General Alfred Pennyworth again tried to convince the Archon not to going running off blindly.

"You're breaking up, old man, better get that com gear looked at," Thomas said as worked the foot pedals and pushed the throttle forward. The _Batman_ stepped out of its slip in the hanger bay and walked by the scrambling technicians who were being screamed at by the pilots of the other lances. Thomas could imagine their ire when they found that all of their machines were down for maintenance.

Such a thing should never have happened and he made a mental note to have a talk with the Master Technician about his inefficiencies. The _Batman_ then stepped out into the noonday sun and he saw the _Huntress_ waiting for him. The 55-ton 'mech piloted by his wife looked as impatient as the woman at the controls. "I have the lead," he commanded. She responded and fell into line behind him.

As soon as they cleared the main perimeter fence, both machines broke into a run. The _Huntress_ was twice as fast as the _Batman_, but did not pack near the punch that Thomas's 90-ton machine did and so it was important for him to go in first as they had no idea what sort of 'mech they would face.

"How in the hell did an unknown 'mech get on planet? We would have surely detected a DropShip burning in, wouldn't we?" Martha asked. 

Thomas gritted his teeth and adjusted his HUD. "Unless we have been betrayed," he said coldly. Oracle, the Gotham Commonwealth intelligence agency, had reported that they had information that someone had put a price on Thomas's head. That wasn't so unusual; all of the House Lords were under death warrants on many planets in the Inner Sphere. No, what had been disturbing was the amount of money that had been put up on the contract.

Oracle had suggested that only another House Lord could put up such money and the first person that came to mind was Coordinator Katar Hol. His hatred of Thomas went back to the border skirmishes of the last decade when the 1st Gotham Guards had faced the 15th Thanagarian Wingmen. Katar's mistress, an unidentified MechWarrior, had been killed when Thomas' PPC had exploited a deep chest wound and caused the Thanagarian 'mech to explode. Thanagarians were known to be very protective of their women and Katar had taken it as a personal attack against him.

"Thomas," Martha said, "I have a contact at 900 meters, just behind Hill 112."

He checked his own display as he passed through the warning sign for the training area and interlocked his weapons into his preferred firing configurations. A red dot was moving and that bothered Thomas. There should have been at least four training tanks out here as well.

"Jump the hill," he called out. Both 'mechs began to rise on plasma exhaust as their jumps jets allowed them to rise and sail over the hill. Alarms screamed as Thomas cleared the top; he realized much too late that the enemy 'mech had a target lock on him. 

Two large lasers fired and struck Thomas's leg, causing armor to run like blood from a wound down to the ground below. His engine temperature shot up as the jump jet and heat sink in that leg exploded. He cursed. There was no way that hit should have penetrated all of the armor his legs had. He should have been hurt, but not this bad. His schematic showed that nearly all of the armor had been flayed from his 'mech's leg.

As his 'mech fell to the ground, Martha's _Huntress _let loose with a four-pack of short-range missiles. As her 'mech sailed past the giant enemy machine, she grinned in satisfaction as the exploded near the cockpit. The other 'mech turned slowly, as if annoyed, and fired a single burst from it's twenty-shot autocannon.

The depleted uranium-tipped rounds poked and punctured at Martha's weak rear armor and she heard something rattle loose as she landed several meters away. The enemy 'mech was now turned to fully face her and she gasped as she took it all in. It was almost as tall as Thomas's _Batman_, but had a broader torso that appeared to hold at least two different types of autocannons. Each arm held a long-range missile launcher and large laser as well. This was a machine built for one thing: destroying other 'mechs.

BattleMechs were often classified based upon their weight class, either being scout (light), medium, heavy or assault and then they would fall into other categories as well. Some machines were meant for fire support, while others were designed along the lines of fire suppression. This angry looking machine was a 'mech killer.

Thomas's _Batman_ slowly stood back up, but he was in serious trouble. Alarms were ringing and his control board looked like a Christmas tree. He cycled for his three small lasers, afraid of what would happen if he tried anything else and was about to fire when he heard a whimper. A cold blanket of horror fell over him. "Bruce? Bruce are you behind me?" He couldn't take his eyes off of the strange 'mech that was bearing down on his wife.

"I'm sorry, father; I just wanted to ride with you," Bruce called from behind the small storage locker. The cockpit of the _Batman_ was barely large enough to hold Thomas and he couldn't imagine how his young son was able to squeeze his way into the ramped storage space. 

The small lasers stabbed out at the rear of the other 'mech, but did nothing more than burn away some paint. He wanted to turn around and run, but he couldn't leave Martha alone. If her LAM package were working correctly, she could just fly away. He had to risk something more than tattooing his adversary with the underpowered lasers he was currently using.

"Bruce, son, if you're getting hot you need to pull of your clothes," Thomas said as he selected his autocannon. The heat build-up was already unbearable, thanks to the loss of his heat sinks in his leg. He pulled the trigger, striking the other 'mech right behind the cockpit. "That'll ring his ears!"

The other machine stopped marching towards the _Huntress_ and brought both arms up. Two emerald beams shot out and penetrated the upper arm of the Land-Air Mech, dissolving the shoulder actuator. Internal explosions rocked the smaller machine as SRM ammo cooked off from the heat of the attack. Armor melted away and then was forcibly tossed in chunks as the ammunition exploded.

The right arm of the _Huntress_ disappeared in a fiery blast and the 55-ton 'mech stumbled and nearly fell. Only Martha's superior piloting skills kept the machine from falling down. The victorious 'mech turned to face Thomas. "Nobody takes my wife's arm off," Thomas said grimly as he armed his particle projection cannon. Blue-white lighting erupted from the left torso of the _Batman_ and slammed into the chest of the attacking BattleMech. The heat in Thomas's cockpit spiked sharply and he began to sweat bullets, but he was happy to see several tons of armor melt away from the enemy 'mech's torso. That had definitely gotten his attention.

"Get up off the grating, Bruce," Thomas called as he felt the heat from his fusion engine leach through his boots. He heard the boy grunt and groan then yelp as he touched something that was hot. "Be careful, son," he said as he flipped to his command frequency. "This is One, I have engaged an unknown assault-class bipedal BattleMech. No identifying marks…hold one!" Thomas pressed a button and his HUD zoomed in on the chest of the other 'mech as the two of them circled each other. Their slow dance was moving them farther into the training area and away from the crippled _Huntress_.

He could just make out an emblem on the right thigh that appeared to have been hastily painted over. "What is that? M? MM? MN?" Autocannon rounds from the other 'mech broke his concentration as they walked down from his chest to his exposed leg. Three rounds found their target, blasting through exposed myomer muscle and splintering titanium bone.

The _Batman _wavered slightly as Thomas strained with the controls. "Stay up, stay up!" he cried out. Another burst of fire from an Ultra model autocannon finished the job and the _Batman's _leg was completely severed. The 90-ton BattleMech could no longer fight the effects of gravity and dropped to the ground.

Martha felt the ground shake as her husband's 'mech crashed down. She knew it was impossible as there had been relatively little in the way of weapons exchange. The _Batman_ was a tough 'mech, perhaps one of the toughest in the Gotham arsenal, and here it was down in less than five minutes of fighting.

Martha was no fool; she knew she was horribly outclassed and wounded, fighting a machine that barely had its paint scratched. She brought her own PPC up and aimed for the cockpit of her foe. "This is Two, One is down; I need support now!"

"Roger Two, this is Batwing Five, we are one minute out," came back a reply. Martha's heart soured with the thought of an entire lance of _Batwing_ assault fighters coming to her rescue. 

"I copy, Batwing Five," she said as she let loose with her weapon. Her aim was off and the ball of man-made lightning roared past the other 'mech. "Oh, God, no!" she cried as the other 'mech ignored her and raised a giant foot over the fallen _Batman_.

She pushed her throttles forward and the _Huntress_ streaked across the training field, stepping over the smoldering corpses of the training cadre's 35-ton _Bloodhavens_. She started firing all of her weapons as fast as they would cycle, but her aim was thrown off by the loss of her arm. She tried to compensate, but it was to no avail.

Short range missiles and a medium laser burned into the right arm of the machine standing over the fallen _Batman_, but it did nothing to stop it from bringing a foot down on the top of the cockpit. The awful sound of metal tearing and high-grade plastics being reduced to so many pieces of trash was akin to a coffin lid being shut, Martha thought in horror. She screamed into microphone, calling Thomas's name, but received only static in reply.

The murderous MechWarrior then turned to face the rushing _Huntress_, waiting until the range between them assured a hit no matter what. Martha's life ended as the first part of the Alpha Strike, a tactic in which a BattleMech fired all of its weapons at once, smashed through her armor and cockpit, literally throwing her machine back.

The fusion engine must have been damaged by the strike as bright light could be seen escaping though the cracks in the armor of the _Huntress_ as it tumbled onto its back. There were no longer any safeties to prevent the explosion of the 'mech's power plant and when it went, it sent large pieces of the machine flying high into the sky. One piece caught the lead _Batwing_ as it swept in for a strafing run. The fighter spun away doing cartwheels in the air until it slammed into the unforgiving ground. The other three members of the flight swooped in and laid into the standing enemy 'mech with medium lasers that melted tons of armor from the chest and right arm.

The 'mech made no movement to return fire as the fighters soared off to turn for another run. It remained motionless through another salvo of death as the fighters gave no quarter in their efforts to bring down the enemy. The second run was punctuated with autocannon fire that split open the rear armor and damaged the gyro. The pilot, probably sensing that the 'mech was in no shape to fight now, ejected. A fiery plume shot away from the 'mech even as the fighters returned for a third attack.

"General Pennyworth," the young captain said, saluting his superior.

General Alfred Pennyworth stepped off of the ladder leading down from the cockpit of his _BattleMaster _and removed his neurohelmet. He ran a hand through his widow-peaked black hair. "Please tell me he's alive?"

The captain looked confused and his eyes moved over to the fallen _Batman_. Medical and salvage crews were moving all over it, looking like ants devouring a corpse. "Sir, Prince Bruce is hurt, but alive…"

"Prince Bruce?" Alfred gasped. Had the boy once again stowed away? That meant he had seen his father's death.

"Yes, sir; he'll live," the captain responded, very nervous now. The relationship between the General and the Archon was widely known to be a friendship of the strongest sort. Being the person to deliver the devastating news that the leader of the Gotham Commonwealth was dead was not exactly why the captain had joined the military. Still he continued with his report. "Sir, we are still looking for the Archon."

Alfred nodded, knowing that the force of being crushed underfoot probably turned his best friend to liquid. Somehow, it fit Thomas to know he was going to be absorbed into the ground of the planet he had loved so much. "And the Archon-Queen?"

The captain shook his head. "Vaporized when her 'mech exploded, sir."

"Are they okay?" someone called from behind them. Alfred turned to seed a young man carrying a fighter helmet and wearing basically the same outfit as himself walking and asking questions of everyone. The man finally made his way to Alfred, stopped and saluted. "Sir, Lieutenant John Grayson, 14th Aero Wing."

Alfred returned the salute. "You were the one who led the air assault on that unknown 'mech?"

John nodded. "Yes, sir; we were on CAP about two hundred clicks out when we heard about the battle over the box. We lost our flight leader in the first exchange and so I assumed command. Did we save the Archon?"

Alfred put a hand on the other man's shoulder. "No, but you saved the Archon-Prince and therefore have saved the Gotham Commonwealth. You stay right next to me, Grayson, do you understand?"

Tears were falling down John's face. "I didn't save him…"

"You did your duty, son," Alfred turned to the captain. "What about the other 'mech?"

"Uh, we have a tech that has tentatively identified it as a _Bane_, sir. Not a common design," the captain offered.

"How about the MechWarrior in it?"

The captain turned pale. "He punched out, sir. His Alpha Strike shut his 'mech down, damaged the engine and everything. Lucky he didn't blow up. We haven't found him, sir."

"Keep looking, man; I don't want one soldier to leave this field until we know who did this. As of now, I am declaring martial law in the Commonwealth. Get the Archon-Prince out of here and put him under guard." He turned to Grayson. "You go with him; protect him with your life."

Grayson stood tall, happy to be able to do something. "Yes, sir," he said with a smart salute.

As Grayson turned to run to the fallen _Batman_, Alfred began to go over the list of enemies that could have done this. It was a long list.

A very long list. 


	3. Chapter 2

DC Heroes: MechWarrior I

By: Christopher W. Blaine

e-mail: darth_yoshi@yahoo.com

Chapter 2 Justice City New Gotham 

**_Gotham Commonwealth_**

December 24, 3030 

"You will provide me with the information I requested and you will provide it now!" Bruce bellowed, slamming his fist on the desk. General Alfred Pennyworth regarded him with a cold stare. It was enough to make even the headstrong Archon-Prince back down.

"You will refrain from destroying my furniture, my prince; I need it so I can go through all of the paperwork that this government generates. In case you have forgotten, until you turn twenty-one, I am the Archon-Regent." Alfred allowed that to sink in for a moment before he leaned back in his chair. He cast a quick glance over to a younger man who insisted on smoking despite the signs that indicated it was prohibited.

Lieutenant James Gordon nodded and pulled the cigarette from his lips before speaking. "We have the information, Prince Bruce, but it has not been verified. Oracle has many ways of doing things, but it can't perform miracles. Sometimes a trail is too cold to follow."

Bruce swallowed, trying to regain his lost composure. He needed to somehow demonstrate to these men he was worthy of their respect. Getting angry did not seem to do it. "I am eighteen years old, which means under Commonwealth law I'm an adult, so I would appreciate it if you would treat me like one. My parents were killed in front of me, gentlemen, and nobody has ever been brought to justice over it." He stepped back and smoothed his cadet uniform. He was one year into his studies at the Gotham BattleMech Institute, the premier military training academy in the Commonwealth. He had been granted leave for Christmas, a holiday leftover from man's time on Terra and one that was favored on the worlds of the Gotham Commonwealth. "My father was a great man; my mother was equally as great. I know, general, that you served with them honorably and that you and Oracle have put forth every effort to seek out the person who killed them. What I'm saying is maybe its time for a different perspective."

"Begging the Prince's pardon," Jim said, crushing out his cigarette in a candy dish, "but exactly what qualifies you to assess forensic and intelligence information."

"I am quite skilled at both, as my previous studies indicate," Bruce said with some measure of pride. Alfred said nothing, instead watching to see of Bruce could dictate as well as his father had. 

"Be that as it may, sir," Jim said, bowing his head, "you still do not have the need-to-know. You are, with all due respect, only a cadet in a military academy."

Alfred's eyes drifted from Jim over to Bruce and he could see that the boy was straining himself from simply beating the intelligence agent. Jim Gordon was good, a damn good agent who would most likely go far if he played his cards right. He was a by-the-book type of agent that was sorely needed in Oracle, which had seemed to have fostered an attitude much akin to the Terran Wild West. Many in Oracle thought that they did not have to answer to anyone but their Commissioner, who was a life appointee from Thomas Wayne's time as Archon. Even though he was the Archon-General, Alfred could do nothing about it.

Bruce put a hand on the desktop for support. "Be that as it may, Agent Gordon," Bruce started, using the more familiar title with the Oracle man, "in three years, I will be the Archon and Oracle will have to surrender the information to me. I wonder if I will be in a favorable mood that day or will I begin to rethink postings?"

Gordon shook his head. "If you are trying to threaten me your highness…"

Bruce cut him off with a cold stare. "I'm not threatening, I'm telling you. Now or later, it doesn't matter to me, but it will to your career."

There was an odd silence, interrupted only by the constant tick-tock of Alfred's large grandfather clock. It was an item the general had built himself many years before. Jim pulled out another cigarette and lit it, then pointed it at Alfred. "You were right, general, he did threaten my job. Same thing Thomas would have done."

Alfred nodded. "Indeed. I was afraid he would simply have stated he would have you shot."

Bruce watched the exchange with mixed emotions. He had been set up, tested on how well he could use his influence and he had passed by not going overboard. He didn't like the idea, though. "Don't do that again," he said as he stood up stiffly.

Alfred's smile dropped away and was replaced by a hard stare. It was commonly referred to as his "ass-chewing" look. "See here, young sir…"

Bruce held up a hand. "No! You listen. My whole life I've been held up to this standard my father set and I'm tired of it. My father was a great leader, a great man and a good husband. He was the best damn father in the Inner Sphere and I loved him more than words can say. But I'm not him. I don't agree with everything he did and I don't agree with how he set things up and when I am Archon, it will be different."

Jim tried to say something but Alfred held a finger up. "You may not want to be compared to your father, master Bruce, but you will be, if not by us then by the people. That is the price you pay in order to rule. I am not even of the Wayne bloodline, yet every decision I make is compared to the legacy that Thomas Wayne left. For you, it will be ten times worse because you are the heir apparent, the savior of the Gotham people."

"That isn't fair! I should be able to do things my way…"

"Ruling is not about doing things your way," Alfred said, his voice never wavering. "You rule by the consent of the ruled and you must do things their way. If the people demand security, then you have to decide how to provide it. You don't decide the people need to be secured."

"This is not a democracy," Bruce replied, sticking his chest out. "I was born to the throne."

"Do not delude yourself; all governments are democracies, some are just more democratic than others. The people will decide if you get to continue to rule. If they love you, they will respect your decisions; if they don't…"

Bruce shook his head. "What does this have to do with my request?"

Alfred's tone became softer, but his expression did not change. "What would you do with the information, Archon-Prince? Would you run off in search of vengeance?"

"Yes! Yes I would," Bruce replied. "The people need to know that crimes will be avenged!"

"No, the people need to know that their leader is not going to go off half-cocked and plunge the Commonwealth into war! What if you discover that your father was assassinated by order of Katar Hol? Would you declare war on the Thanagarian Combine? We just finished one with them…"

Bruce bit his lip, allowing Alfred to continue. The Archon-General finally stood up and came around from behind the desk. "Bruce, I know the pain that burns deep in your heart, but you have to look at the bigger picture. The Commonwealth has gone without a true leader for a decade and it is tired. Tired of war and wondering what direction we will be going in. The people want a leader to rally around. Yes, Thomas deserves revenge, but until we are absolutely sure, we can't do anything."

"Then why do you hide the information from me?"

Jim replied. "Because there isn't any. The 'mech pilot was never found, we assumed he had confederates nearby that got him out of the area. His 'mech was a _Bane_, an assault type that never became popular because of its cost."

Bruce spread his hands out wide. "This is all common knowledge. What about the initials my father saw on it?"

Alfred put a hand on Bruce's shoulder. "Burned away. We don't know what they were; even Thomas wasn't sure."

"We can tell you this," Jim said as he took a long drag, "your father's 'mech had been fitted with armor plating that was one-third the thickness of standard armor."

That was news to Bruce. It was something he had suspected but could not prove. His father's _Batman_ had been confiscated by Oracle and he had not seen it since. "Did you question the techs? The Master Technician?"

"They were all dead by the time Oracle got around to finding them."

Bruce stared at the floor. There was no secret vat of knowledge as he had hoped for all of these years. He had prayed that there was information and that Oracle was simply holding it for him until he reached the proper age. Then he would march into battle and smite down those who had betrayed his father like an avenging god of war. It was not to be and his disappointment seemed to fill the room. 

Alfred removed his hand and went over to the Christmas tree he had in his office. Alfred had no family of his own, Bruce was surprised to see so many gifts under it. He had assumed that they were simply there for show. The Archon-General stopped down and picked up a small package and then brought it to Bruce. "Merry Christmas," he said.

Bruce's mood lightened a bit as he took the small box. It was wrapped in paper bearing the Wayne Crest, a gloved fist raised in front of the yellow and black symbol of a bat. It was the bat that had started the Wayne family fortune on old Terra several centuries before. The bats would pollinate several rare species of flowering plants that the Wayne's would sell. It seemed almost ridiculous today, but it had been before the Industrial Revolution.

Bruce looked up, sadness in his eyes. "I didn't get anything for you."

"I would hope that a cadet would have better things to do than go shopping," Alfred said with a wink. "Think nothing of it, master Bruce; the fact that you decided to spend this holiday with this tired old man is more than enough present for me."

Bruce began to blush. "And here I was screaming at you…"

"You have your mother's passion, but you need to remember your father's temperament. The time will come, young prince, I promise you, when you shall be the one to make the decisions and then you will understand the burden I am under. I too wish to tear up House Hol's possessions looking for the bastard that murdered my two greatest friends, but I can't. Neither can you. You are the Archon-Prince, heir to the throne; your place is here for now."

Bruce nodded and opened the package. He did not notice as Jim exited the room quietly, taking the now ruined candy dish with him. The wrapping paper dropped to the hardwood floor and Bruce reached into a small white box and pull out a set of keys. He wasn't quite sure what to say and Alfred seemed to be amused at the prince's confusion.

"In the days of old," Alfred began, not wanting to torture the younger man any further, "it was customary for a father to bestow a vehicle upon the favored son at the holidays. Generally, this was signified by the passing on of keys."

"Ford?" Bruce asked, looking at the letters printed on the keys. "Is that good?"

Alfred smiled. "It was a minor vehicle manufacturer before the exodus from Terra, however they are only representative of my gift. The true gift is outside," Alfred swept his arm towards the large window behind the desk. Bruce gave him a wry look and then ran over to the window.

The first true snowstorm of the season was working holiday magic on the grounds of the royal estate. Bruce had to take his hand and wipe away the fog that had formed on the windows and he put his face up to it. Then he cupped his eyes so he could see farther out and was rewarded with a sight every cadet dreams of.

"Oh my God," he whispered as he beheld the sight of his Christmas present. He quickly turned back to Alfred. "Is it really for me?"

Alfred nodded. "It was mine when I was your age, given to me by my uncle prior to my leaving the Metropolitan Suns for service to the Commonwealth. It was, at the time, the only House Luthor design that could be found outside of the Suns."

Bruce looked upon the bird-like 'mech, colored in the red and gold colors of the Metropolitan Suns, seeing the tell-tale machine guns and small lasers sticking out of the stubby arms. The 'mech was a 65-ton _Firestorm_ and it was now his. "I don't know what to say."

"Say nothing, lad, just remember that it's a close quarters fighter, no long range weapons," Alfred said as he accepted a cup of eggnog from a servant. The servant offered Bruce a cup, which he took with thanks. "It would not be fitting for a prince to be dispossessed."

Bruce smiled. All MechWarriors had to have a BattleMech in order to do their job. It was the minimum requirement; all of the training and talent did no good without something to put that skill to use. Any warrior worth his salt was fearful of being dispossessed…left without a 'mech. "I promise I'll take good care of her."

Alfred sipped at his cup, delighting in the light taste of alcohol. "You might want to paint her a different color scheme, something more akin to the dark colors of Gotham…"

"Maybe…we'll see…" Bruce said, a twinkle in his eye. Alfred knew that look and it bothered him greatly. The Archon-Prince just thought of something and Alfred could already tell it wasn't anything pleasant. "When can I take her out?"

Alfred shrugged. "As you stated before, you are an adult now Cadet Wayne."

Bruce downed his eggnog and bowed. "By the general's leave."

Alfred returned the bow. "Please hurry back; I'm planning on a late supper before my guests arrive."

Bruce looked up. "Guests?"

Alfred chuckled. "I said I was appreciative of you coming, I did not say I was a hermit locked away in my castle. Captain John Grayson and his family are joining us as well as Lieutenant Selina Kyle, the new Four." The members of the 1st Gotham Guards command lance were known as One, Two, Three and Four. When Bruce assumed the throne as Archon, he would immediately become One. Just as his father had been.

"I look forward to seeing him again," Bruce lied. The fact was that John Grayson intimidated Bruce. He was cocky and sure of himself and a true to life hero. He reminded Bruce too much of his father. The only good point, besides looking at John's pretty wife, was their son Dick. Though Bruce was eleven years older, he looked upon the little boy as a younger brother.

Bruce did not wait for a reply, but instead set his cup down and left the room as soon as possible. Once in the hallway, he took off at a run. The sight of the BattleMech had filled him with joy, but he knew that it was short-lived. He could feel the black mood slowly creeping up his spine, threatening to chill that part of his brain that held his dearest memories.

Black voices spoke in gray tones to him, telling him to avenge his parents' deaths. He wanted so much to listen to Alfred and to Jim Gordon. He wanted so much to believe that if he was simply patient, then the answers would become clear. 

He didn't want clear answers, though, he wanted blood. He wanted the blood of his parents' murderer on his hands. _Face me, killer!_ The words had echoed through his head for years, ever since he had watched the giant metal foot crush his father into a puddle of…God how he hated the word…goo!

He kicked open the doors and stepped out into the cold wintry night. The guards at the doors did not move anything except their eyes, watching as the prince ran through the snow, stumbling sometimes, nearly falling completely as he reached the 2-1/2 story tall BattleMech.

The legs were like an ostrich, which is why it was referred to as an avian design. The Metropolitan Suns were known for coming up with new and interesting ways of putting 'mechs together and the _Firestorm_ was only one example. He appreciated that Alfred was giving up a prized possession for Bruce, but it was with mixed emotions he accepted it. He laid an ungloved hand on the leg, trying to see if he could sense the raw power that was just under the surface. He noted that the armor was all brand new, indicating that Alfred had put forth much of his own money to repair the machine.

Bruce had seen pictures from the early days of his father's reign of this 'mech. It was designed to be a boxer of sorts, a heavy 'mech that stepped into the middle of the action and slugged it out with infantry and support vehicles. It was a feared design in the Keystone Confederation, where speed was considered the primary consideration in designing BattleMechs. House Allen did not like to get close, preferring lightning quick attacks and then fading into the mists. The _Firestorm_ had been a rude awakening during the Third Succession War for Celestial Prince Walter Allen. 

During a rather brutal battle in late 3007, Colonel Alfred Pennyworth led the 14th New Amsterdam Dragoons to a decisive victory over the 199th Keystone Fusiliers. In that five hours of heavy 'mech combat, the _Firestorm_ that was now Bruce's had succeeded in taking down nine enemy 'mechs before it had to be returned to the rear. No more ammunition and burnt capacitors in the lasers had rendered the 'mech useless. It was the battle that secured Alfred a generalship, which he still held today.

It wasn't a _Batman_, though, and looking at the crimson and yellow coloring, Bruce knew that he would never pilot one. Certainly there were still several _Batman_ 'mechs out there, but it had been his father's machine. He needed something of his own, but he wasn't sure what it would be. Bruce was fond of the _Black Knight_ design, a general 'mech design found throughout the Inner Sphere, but he would not turn down a present such as this. For the next few years, it seemed, this was going to be his steed.

He patted the leg like it was a favored horse and turned to walk away. It was far too late to go for a walk and it was Christmas Eve after all. He nearly knocked over the person who was coming up behind him. "Hey, jerk!" a female voice called out.

Bruce apologized immediately but the woman was having none of it. "A cadet! I should have known. What the hell are you doing out here?" Bruce noted that the woman was dressed in the formal uniform of a MechWarrior with officer's bars on her collar.

"Excuse me?" Bruce replied, standing straight up. The woman took a good look at him and then smiled.

"The Archon-Prince, we finally meet," she said from behind perfect teeth. It wasn't all that was perfect about her either. Long black hair, not at all what one expected from a MechWarrior, hung loose and seemed to shimmer in the moon's glow. As he took in the rest of her athletic figure, he wondered how her neurohelmet was able to read her brain patterns through all of the beautiful hair. He felt the sudden urge to reach out and touch it. 

"If you know who I am then you know why I'm here," Bruce relied, sticking his chest out a little farther.

"I saw someone around the general's 'mech so I investigated. That's my job, Cadet Wayne." She seemed to be enjoying referring to him by anything that would not indicate a status above hers.

"Thank you, Lieutenant Kyle," he said, seeing the name badge on her chest. "Once I assume the throne, I will ensure that a letter of commendation for service above and beyond the call of duty is entered in your record," Bruce replied with a bow. 

She made a poor curtsy. "Why thank you so much, Cadet Prince Wayne; are you going to mention how you nearly trampled me as well?"

"It was an accident," he said, apologizing again.

"MechWarriors have to know where they are going at all times, Cadet! There is no 'oops' when you are piloting a hundred tons of pure meanness!"

"I said I was sorry!"

"Not good enough, Cadet. One day, you and I are going to be in the same lance and I don't want to worry about you stepping on my in the middle of a battle!" She put her hands on her hips, shapely hips he decided, and seemed to dare him to respond. "Do I have your promise you'll watch it next time? I can't spend my career watching your ass."

"Don't you worry about my ass! Worry about your ass! Oh, and I'll be watching your ass, you wait and see," Bruce said as he stomped off, not bothering to salute. When he was a few meters away, he realized what he had said and turned to apologize yet again. When he looked, she was smiling.

"Watching my ass, eh? Hope you enjoy the view, handsome," she said before turning around and walking off in the opposite direction. 

Bruce shook his head, vowing he would never embarrass himself in such a manner ever again.

"Do you often spill drinks on women's chests, or am I a special case, cadet?" Lt. Kyle remarked as she looked down at her ruined uniform blouse. Mary Grayson, wife of Captain John Grayson and a former aeropilot herself, started wiping off the excess with a damp cloth.

Bruce's head burned and his vision was getting fuzzy. Little Dick Grayson was laughing in a corner, thinking that this was the best party he had ever been to. Several servants moved in to surround the infuriated lt. Kyle, but she waved them away. "I'll clean myself off, thank you." She then bowed her head to Bruce. "And thank you, my prince, I will treasure this moment forever."

As she left to clean up, Mary in tow, John Grayson slapped Bruce on the back. "That is a sure fire way to get noticed, my prince."

"Indeed. I never realized you had such a way with the ladies," Alfred commented as he refilled Bruce's glass. Handing it back he whispered. "You definitely are not your father in that regard."

Bruce felt like running and jumping out the window so he could cool his burning face in the virgin snow. He had not meant to spill his drink, especially on the officer that he found himself attracted to despite his better judgment. When he had seen her, he immediately remembered when Alfred had told him about the new MechWarrior in the command lance. 

To be accepted into the command lance and not hold a command position in the military indicated someone of great skill. He guessed by her apparent age that Selina Kyle was probably no more than four years older than him. Alfred had corrected him by stating that Selina had just graduated from the same academy Bruce was attending.

"She had a four-point-oh grade point average her last year. Finished the obstacle course just under your father's time. Defeated 6 enemy 'mechs in the final simulator exercise and single-handedly routed a superior force in the final practical. In other words, she's the best MechWarrior to have ever graduated from a Gotham institute." Bruce had remained in shock for several seconds and then looked back at her. Beautiful and deadly. His heart was racing and he wondered if her off-handed comment about him being handsome had been the truth.

His had planned to dazzle her with talk of…well, he wasn't quite sure, but the dark voices in his mind seemed to quiet down as he approached her. Then he had tripped on something, most likely his tongue he assumed, and the rest was now a vary bad event indeed. 

"I just wanted to say hello," Bruce said sheepishly. He looked at the clock. It was time for bed.

"A helluva way to do it," John Grayson said. "I think she likes you. If you had done that to me, I would have beaten the snot out of you. That is if I were a young, desirable and single woman who happened to be asking about you before you came back in."

Bruce smiled. "She asked about me?" Christmas was the time of forgiveness.

John nodded. "General, what was her comment?"

Alfred tapped his chin with a finger. "Ah, yes, If memory serves me, something along the lines of her posterior attracting your gaze."

"She used the word 'gawk', I thought."

Dick also chimed in. "Brucie is in love! Brucie is in love!"

Bruce slowly turned and looked out the window at his _Firestorm_, trying to will it fire on him and end all of the merriment at his expense. Nothing happened and he resigned himself to a night full of tortures beyond imagining.

Ho. Ho. Ho.


	4. Chapter 3

DC Heroes: MechWarrior I

By: Christopher W. Blaine

e-mail: darth_yoshi@yahoo.com

DISCLAIMER: All characters and situations contained in this story are ©2002 by either DC Comics Inc. or WhizKids and are used without permission for fan-related entertainment purposes only. No profit is made from this story. This original story is ©2002 by Christopher W. Blaine and may not be reproduced either in part or as a whole without the express permission of the author.

Chapter 3 Justice City New Gotham 

**_Gotham Commonwealth_**

December 27, 3030 

Bruce looked around at the office assigned to Lieutenant James Gordon, Special Agent of Oracle, trying to see if he could figure out the man from the way he worked. The cigarette butts stubbed out in the multiple ashtrays and dropped into old cups of coffee told him the man was under a lot of pressure. He was lucky he was still relatively young, Bruce thought.

There were pictures on the wall and on the desk. A modest woman whom he assumed to be the wife sat with Jim and a red-haired girl of about Dick's age. A family man who wasn't afraid to show it, which meant he understood family bonds. That was good because Bruce needed someone outside the royal court to talk to.

There was a bottle of real Terran whiskey, Jack Daniels brand, on a bookshelf. There were real books here, not the digital copies that GreenStar kept a monopoly on. The religious order had control of virtually every form of information in the Inner Sphere, except for printed material. The Followers of Scott considered books to be nontech, or those things that were so mundane that they should be allowed to disappear into the mists of history. 

Bruce picked up the bottle and uncapped it, sniffing the whiskey. It smelled good. "Would you like some, Prince Bruce?" Jim asked as he stepped into the office and closed the door.

"You don't mind?" Bruce asked handing the bottle over. 

Jim went behind his desk and opened a drawer, he pulled out a pistol, an old-style one and laid it on the desk. Two glasses followed. "Oracle receives a shipment every year from Terra, a gift from GreenStar."

"More like a bribe I would think," Bruce said as he accepted his drink. The whiskey burned but tasted like the nectar of the gods. 

Jim shrugged. "I don't ask. I like getting free whiskey." He capped the bottle and put it along with the pistol away. "Now, what can I do for you?"

Bruce looked back up at the books while he answered, memorizing the titles as he spoke. It was an old mind exercise he had taught himself to improve his powers of observation. "I'd like to talk about the lack of information regarding my parent's death."

Jim scratched his head and sat down in his chair. "Oracle assigned the best investigators it had to the case a decade ago. The truth is that we don't believe it will ever be solved and that is unfortunate."

"Unfortunate for who?" Bruce asked.

"Well, besides the obvious, it hurts Oracle. Whoever planned this was an intelligence genius and they had help from, we believe, rogue agents from RING." RING was the secret operations section of GreenStar. "It's no secret that Thomas was not favored by the Primus, especially after he refused to allow Corps troops to man the HPG stations." In 3015, GreenStar had begun manning Hyper Pulse Generator facilities with their own forces in response to a veiled threat made by Coordinator Katar Hol of the Thanagarian Combine. Arm twisting had gotten all of the other House Lords to agree, but Thomas had refused. 

It had been the catalyst to a chain reaction that caused the other Lords to change their minds. Even today, GreenStar had hopes of putting regiments of the Green Lantern Corps on every planet. Thomas's refusal to give in to GreenStar's demands had made him some very powerful enemies. Bruce, however, had a hard time believing it. "Primus Ganthet is a hard ass, but I can't see him doing something like that. He's raised the rates of transmissions, GreenStar made a ton of G-Bills over the whole thing."

Jim fished a cigarette out of a pack and lit up. "Like I said, rogue agents, which means we weren't on our toes. We were so busy looking for Thanagarian agents that we had blinders on."

"Nothing that can be proven, though, right?"

Jim nodded. "Believe me, nothing would make Oracle happier than busting a RING agent involved in the murder of the Archon." He took a sip of his whiskey and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "As for the lack of information, on that note, my prince, I have to agree with you. Just between you and me, I think that is what will lead us to the killer and the people who hired them."

Bruce moved over to a seat, removed a magazine on local sports fishing, and sat down. He leaned forward, holding his drink between his knees. "The initials my father called out…'MM'."

"It was checked out for every mercenary group and nothing panned out, so we figured that it was nothing. We even ran a check on all of the other House units and came up empty. Who else uses 'mechs? Pirates?" Jim shook his head and finished his drink.

"How about gaming stables?"

Jim slowly looked at the young prince, wanting at once to give him a hug for his simple brilliance and at the same time wanting to take the gun out and shoot him so the secret wouldn't get out. It was so obvious it had been missed. Or maybe intentionally overlooked? It was possible, Jim thought; the Archon-General already had him rooting out corruption in the organization. "You mean like on Solaris VII?"

Bruce nodded. "I went to the royal library and accessed the gaming stables database. A group called Moxon's Mayhem was and still is an active participant in the games." The games were a throwback to the times of the Roman Empire. BattleMechs would battle each other for the enjoyment of the crowds. It was a place no sane MechWarrior ventured to.

Jim shook his head slowly. "The name doesn't ring a bell."

"Moxon was in hock up until shortly after my father and mother's deaths. Since then, he hasn't had a cash flow problem," Bruce said as he sat the glass on the desk. "He also had a _Bane_ in his stable up until a year before the murder."

"Doesn't mean anything and it doesn't help. All of the House Lords signed the Agreement of Self-Rule for Solaris VII a hundred years ago to keep the games as fair as possible." Jim sat up and dropped his ashes into a coffee cup. "He could have sold that 'mech for the money."

Bruce disagreed. "The pilot of that 'mech fought like a gladiator. He was right in my father's face. He did an Alpha Strike against my mother and shut his 'mech down. Only guys in the games do things like that because they don't expect an attack from an air wing."

Jim considered the logic for a moment. He wished he had at least become familiar with a BattleMech when he was given the opportunity in the Oracle Training Academy. He had elected for Small Arms Proficiency Level 3. He didn't understand BattleMech fighting and he had his doubts about a cadet in his first year. "Even if what you say is true, supposing that rogue RING agents were able to somehow smuggle in an assault 'mech and a pilot, how do we prove it? We don't have MechWarriors on the Oracle payroll to send to the games as undercover agents."

"What about regular troops?" Bruce asked, knowing the answer already. 

"Can't; the Agreement specifically states that military units may not touchdown on the planet for any reason."

"So, I guess you need someone with a 'mech and no official military ties that is privy to top secret information," Bruce said.

Jim smiled. "I suppose you want me to be executed…slowly."

"Nobody would have to know…"

"I suppose you want me to be executed…slowly," was the response.

"It's my only chance!" Bruce pleaded.

"What kind of servant to the throne would I be of I willingly put the heir in immediate danger. Have you had any children I don't know about? Have you thought of that, my prince? The Steiners are chomping at the bit to take control of the Commonwealth! Lord only knows what they'll do with a little power." Jim stood up and tapped his desk. "The Archon-General is absolutely correct; your duty is to the people of the Gotham Commonwealth."

Bruce swallowed hard. "For the past ten years, everyone has told me what I have to do for the Gotham people, and I have to ask is weren't my parents citizens as well? How can I go through life not knowing?"

Jim wished he were somewhere else. He reached out and grabbed the picture of his wife and the red-haired girl. "My brother was killed in an accident two years ago and now I'm raising his daughter as my own. I'll never know what demons drove my brother to drink to the point that he was willing to sacrifice not just his life, but that of his wife as well. His daughter has to live with it as well. We all carry pain."

"No, some of us simply accept it," Bruce replied, standing up. His blue eyes seemed to radiate cold and Jim had to suppress a shiver. There was a volcano of anger under the surface here. "And some of us don't."

Jim nodded and inhaled deeply. "Archon-Prince Bruce Wayne, as an officer of  Oracle having sworn an oath of allegiance to the throne of the Gotham Commonwealth, I must inform you that I must report this to my superiors." Jim suddenly felt a great weight on his shoulders. "Please don't make me do this."

"You won't do anything, I can tell." Bruce turned around and left the office, leaving Jim alone to ponder his thoughts. He was caught between two rocks, desperately wanting a hard place to cling to.

"Damn him," Jim said. He liked the Archon-Prince, but he couldn't stand by and let him do something foolish. He reached over to a drawer and pulled out a file. In it were several pictures of Bruce with Selina Kyle, the new MechWarrior assigned to the 1st Gotham Guards Command Lance, from General Pennyworth's Christmas party. If he couldn't talk to the headstrong royal, maybe she could.   

Lieutenant Selina Kyle stopped at the hanger bay doors, peering deep inside the cavern of brick and steel, watching the skeleton crew of technicians and guards mill around the BattleMechs of the 1st Gotham Guards. Her own machine, a 65-ton _Catapult_ was being hosed down after a day of running through ice, snow and mud.

In the farthest corner, in the slot reserved especially for the Archon's 'mech, stood the red and gold _Firestorm_ of the Archon-Prince. She wouldn't be here if it wasn't for the fact that she was interested in the prince. He was clumsy in a boyish and annoying way, an aristocrat in his attitude, but he also had a big heart. She had seen the way he been with Dick Grayson, proof that one day Bruce Wayne would be a hell of a father. It didn't hurt matters that he was pretty damn cute as well.

She started walking, stepping through the temperature boundary from the cold outside to the relative warmth of the inside. She noted that Beta Lance of the 1st Regiment was out on patrol. Even though they were on the safest world in the Commonwealth, the murder of Archon Thomas Wayne had drastically changed the security measures taken even during the holidays. Never again, that was the motto of the 1st Gotham Guards. 

She unzipped the front of her coveralls, not needing he extra warmth and started to roll up her sleeves. She had only been posted with the command lance for two weeks now, but the hanger bay was familiar territory. She had spent many hours in here working on her own 'mech, developing her skills as an amateur technician. She was of the mind that you could only rely on herself. After all, that was the story of her life.

Born into a family that had lost its wealth during the Second Succession War, Selina seemed to have been destined for a life of misery. Abused by her father who had unnatural cravings for his daughter, she had run away from home several times until the local security forces had placed her in foster care with a former member of the Gotham infantry. 

A hard man to please, he nevertheless showed her the love she so desperately craved and motivated her to succeed. She had even taken his last name as soon as she turned 18, forever dropping her dark past and only concentrating on the future. It had been a tough future, though, as she was never the most academic of people and she struggled her first three years in the academy. That had changed, however, when her foster father had died.

The only thing the man had ever asked of her was to be happy and to do whatever it took to be that way. She wanted to be a MechWarrior, to bring honor to the Kyle name and so she hit the books and the training field and discovered something magical: she enjoyed learning. When she simply allowed herself to have fun, her brain began to absorb information at a rapid pace. She excelled her last year, coming through with such a remarkable improvement that the academy's commanding officer had personally recommended her for the empty slot on the command lance.

Bruce Wayne, however, would have it easy, she thought as she sidestepped a puddle of coolant that had collected on the floor. He had his name to carry him through and his birthright to make any bad mark go away. He didn't seem like the type to do that, but one never knew. It occurred to her that maybe he didn't even know. How many poor grades were changed to good ones simply because he was the Archon-Prince? As clumsy as he appeared to be, she couldn't imagine him being a very good 'mech pilot.

As she approached, she saw that he had his back turned to her and he was doing something odd. Small parts were being tossed in the air, five she counted. He was juggling! She wondered if the accidents he performed for her had been nothing more than an act so she would think he was a fop, a simpleton. That made no sense. 

She coughed and he lost his concentration. He was a jumpy sort of guy, but seeing your parents killed in front of you might do that she thought. He turned, red from embarrassment and she considered asking him if that was his natural shade. "May I have a moment of the prince's time?" she asked.

He nodded and stooped down to pick up the components. She recognized them as having come from the IFF transponder. Without those, his 'mech would not show up as a friendly in a battle. "I was just cleaning some parts."

"I see that," she said, noting his eyes were going to her chest. She crossed her arms over her exposed flesh. "I just wanted to make sure you were feeling okay."

Bruce frowned. "I'm sure you were; Gordon sent you, didn't he?"

"He was concerned, but so was I. Eventually, you and I will be lancemates…"

"You said that before," Bruce replied as he moved over to the open access panel on his 'mech's leg. "Hand me a wrench please."

"What size?" she asked. He told her and she got the correct one out of the small tool kit. She handed it to him, trying to see what he was working on. "I'm pretty handy around a 'mech."

"I'm sure you are, Lieutenant, but I'm fine."

She nodded and stepped back. He continued to work in the access panel until he realized she was not going to leave. Sighing, he stepped away from the machine and turned to face her. "Is there something you want?"

"How about we bury the hatchet and start over? It seems to me that you and I are going to end up spending a lot of time together in the future," she said, extending her hand.

"Maybe, maybe not…postings to the command lance are at the discretion of the Archon, not Military Command." It was her turn to turn red as she had no idea of how to respond. He laughed, glad to have finally gotten the best of her. "I was just kidding."

She got the joke and smiled. His heart began to beat a little faster. "When do you go back?"

He shrugged. "Next week I suppose."

"You suppose? Do you have any other plans?" 

He shook his head. "Like the Archon-Prince of the Gotham Commonwealth wouldn't be recognized on Solaris VII. Give me a break; I thought it through."

She breathed out, relieved. "I'm glad to hear that, otherwise I'd have to beat you up."

He nodded and put the wrench away. "That would be something, Lieutenant."

"Are you hungry? We could get some chow, my treat," she said. 

He almost laughed, wanting to remind her that officially, he couldn't eat at the facilities on the base since he actually wasn't in the military. She was trying hard to make friends and he figured he had everything to gain by going along. "How about I take you out some place nice?'

She suddenly looked embarrassed. "I don't know…"

He realized his faux pas. This was not some courtier; this was a brand spanking-new military officer who probably owned fifty uniforms and one pair of civilian clothes. "I was thinking I could take you to the palace and warm up some leftovers. It would give you a chance to throw a drink on me without having to explain it to everyone."

She laughed. "I would be honored, my prince."

"I'd prefer it if you would call me Bruce," he said as he crooked his arm.

She accepted it and they started to walk away from the 'mech. She did not notice the technician that had been hiding in the shadows that scurried out to pick up the pieces of the IFF transponder.  

"You aren't a bad cook, Bruce," Selina said as she slowly chewed on the overheated fowl. "You'll make a good housewife one day."

"It is nice to have dreams," he replied, gazing deeply into her eyes as he tried desperately to swallow the dry meat. His face betrayed nothing; if she was enjoying the food than he would enjoy the food.

They sat alone in the cavernous kitchen of the royal palace; the kitchen staff shooed out by Bruce after he was told where to find the leftovers from the Christmas feast. He had tried to impress Selina, though he didn't know why. She was older than him, already had a commission and probably had a boyfriend somewhere. Most likely one of his instructors the way his luck was running.

He checked his watch. "Late for a date?" she asked, taking an extra long drink of wine.

"No…no…its just getting close to my bedtime," he remarked with humor. 

"That is the absolute worst pickup line I have ever heard," she said. When she saw that red glow start to overtake his handsome features, she realized that he hadn't even been thinking of sex. Apparently she was though and she started to blush. "I'm sorry…"

He reached over and put his hand on hers. It wasn't a suggestive move, but more of a comforting one. "I would be a liar if I did not say I found you attractive, but I'm…I'm…"

"Engaged? Gay?"

He laughed at her joke. "No, I am a prince and…"

She pulled her hand away. "And it wouldn't be proper for a prince to be seen with the common MechWarrior whore. I understand all right, Mr. High-and-Mighty!" Her face became filled with hurt and rage and Bruce backed his chair up holding his hands up.

"Damn do you have a temper! Are you sure your name isn't Steiner?" He shook his head. "I was going to say that so long as I'm a cadet and you are an officer, not only will it look bad on you, but because of my station any promotion you get in the future is going to look like you slept your way into it."

Selina was speechless. She could not conceive of an apology that would even begin to repair the damage her outburst had caused. She had given off all of the signs and he was resisting because he was worried about how people would look at her. 

She wanted to hug him, but remained motionless. He continued to speak however, his voice carrying the authority of someone born to rule. "I am very attracted to you, Selina, but for now, you and I can only remain friends. This is also to protect me because I don't want to fall in love with you and have you break my heart when you have to choose me over your career."

"You want to be friends?" she asked slowly.

"For now. Unlike most men, the idea of hopping into bed with someone I barely know, regardless of how beautiful she is, is something I abhor. I'm not perfect, but I would like to believe that I'm not some dog who has to chase after every female he passes. I intend to rule on example, not decree, just as my father did." He stood up and reached out a hand for her. She took it, thoroughly amazed at the transformation in him. When a conflict arose, he became something different. He became sure of himself, almost regal and it was damn attractive too she thought.

"I have too many things to do right now, but I did want you to know how I felt about you. I think we could be great friends," he said as he led her out of the kitchen.

"I think so, too, and maybe in time something more," she replied.

"When I'm a little older?"

"Yes, Bruce, when you're a little older."


	5. Chapter 4

DC Heroes: MechWarrior I

By: Christopher W. Blaine

e-mail: darth_yoshi@yahoo.com

DISCLAIMER: All characters and situations contained in this story are ©2002 by either DC Comics Inc. or WhizKids and are used without permission for fan-related entertainment purposes only. No profit is made from this story. This original story is ©2002 by Christopher W. Blaine and may not be reproduced either in part or as a whole without the express permission of the author.

Chapter 4 Romanus (Gotham Quarter) Solaris VII Gotham Commonwealth April 14, 3031 

"And what's your name again?" the sweaty man asked, looking down at a set of papers.

"Matches, Matches Malone," the red-haired visitor said from behind a pair of sunglasses. He pulled out a wooden match and lit it with his thumbnail. "I'm from the east side of the Metropolitan Suns."

"Uh-huh," the man replied and then he looked at the match. "I told you to stop that, it's annoying." The young man was more than that; he was what stable owners hated more than anything else, even losing. This cocksure young man was a wanna-be. "And you have your BattleMech, you say?"

Matches yawned and stretched, his arms coming out a little too far from the sleeves of the leather jacket he wore. It was adorned with patches from various stables, some of them fictional ones from holodramas. "Yeah, I got me a _Firestorm_ locked up down at the Bays." The Bays was the official storage site for BattleMechs that did not belong to a stable or some other legitimate organization. Established by the government of Solaris, it prevented wanton theft of 'mechs while owners sought employment. It was considered strictly hands-off and any person found inside without authorization was shot on the spot.

"And it's yours?" the man asked, picking up a soggy sandwich and taking a bite out of it. Matches noted that the man now had some green vegetable matter stuck on his chin. "Free and clear?"

"Yeah; I didn't steal it," Matches replied.

The interviewer shook his head. "Jumpy sort, aren't ya?" He finished scribbling some information down and then handed Matches a card. "We're gonna have to see ya fight. Report to the Tributary Arena this afternoon at 1600 hours. We'll arrange for your 'mech to be delivered."

Matches shook his head. "I don't think so; I'm not trusting you with my _Firestorm_." 

_Stupid jerk!_ The man wrestled with the idea of smacking the smirking moron in front of him. "Okay, so how do you plan to get it there? Walk it down the main avenue?"

Matches' face burned red. He really hadn't thought that through. He knew that the man in front of him thought he was an amateur, but that was part of the act. Too bad he wasn't acting at the moment. "Uh, right; I'm used to the way things are back home."

"The presidential palace on Metropolis?" the man asked sarcastically as he rolled his chair over to a terminal. He typed in the request to have a union 'mech moving company ship the _Firestorm_ to the arena and waited for the confirmation before he turned around. "Where did you say you were from again?"

Matches stood up. "I didn't." He tugged on his jacket and flashed a big grin. "Don't have a home, I'm a wandering wolf." It was a line from one of the more popular 'mech jock holodramas.

"Uh, huh, just don't be late. 1600 hours the flag goes down."

Bruce felt uncomfortable wearing the glasses and the three days worth of growth on his face itched badly. He had never gone this long without shaving and a bath. The idea of a simple shower appealed greatly to him as he wandered through the streets of Romanus. Somewhere in his walking, he realized that he had crossed out of the Gotham Quarter and into the Thanagarian district.

The signs were printed in the harsh script of the Combine and all of the people looked the same. Tall and beautiful, every last damn one of them. Even those of Asian descent had been affected by hundreds of years under the rule and breeding of House Hol. The average height of a Thanagarian male, regardless of ancestry, was over six feet. Bruce was lucky he was four inches taller than that and had been for some time. He blended right in.

That was a lie and he knew it. He looked like some holostar on vacation, but it was necessary for the ruse. He had at first lived in fear of being recognized, despite the make-up and change in attitude, but soon realized that even though he was one of the most famous faces in the Inner Sphere, it meant nothing if he wasn't being sought.

He passed by a street vendor and purchased some of the local pastries. It tasted as harsh as he imagined the Thanagarian Combine was every day. That was one of the reasons why he was here. Of all of the Commonwealth's enemies, the Combine was the most vocal. Katar Hol made no bones about wanting to turn the Commonwealth into an extension of his domain. Only a strong ruler could stop that and if Bruce was going to be that ruler, he had to find the person who killed his parents.

It was funny, he thought, that the Gotham Commonwealth and the Thanagarian Combine were such mortal enemies. The Combine barely shared a border with the Commonwealth; the line between it and the Metropolitan Suns was far larger. However, House Luthor was known for being the smart ones in the Inner Sphere and Katar Hol was best known for his foolishness.

That was probably being said of him right now in the Royal Palace on New Gotham. He had noted the cover story that Oracle was putting up about him, that he had decided on a sabbatical to contemplate the future. No doubt, Alfred was bareheaded now from pulling his hair out over the entire affair and Jim Gordon was probably smoking in his sleep. 

Somewhere out there were Oracle agents assigned to watch over him, but he would never know who they were. They would just watch and act only on orders from the Archon-General himself. Bruce was on borrowed time; as soon as Melissa Steiner began to suspect that he really wasn't on an extended vacation, Alfred would have him taken back to New Gotham.

The prince never really thought he could simply just slip away and maybe he had talked to Jim Gordon in an effort to find a reason not to do what he was doing. He wanted that one convincing argument that would keep him in the academy until he graduated and assumed the throne. 

There was no argument, however, to quench the fire of vengeance that was burning in him. He had sworn an oath to the spirits of his parents that was more important to him than anything else.

Anything.

He walked the streets of the Thanagarian sector for several more hours, passing the time by visiting several shops and trying to get a feel for the area. There were no things such as brothels or even bars, as such excesses were frowned upon among the Thanagarians. Bruce wasn't quite sure if he agreed with that philosophy or not.

Around two in the afternoon he found himself at the Tributary Arena. He checked in and was directed to the 'mech bay for the Lazarus Pit, a gladiator stable he was trying to get hooked into. Trying to get in with Moxon's crew, which had recently been renamed to Moxon's Magic, would have been too hard. It was better to build up a reputation, he figured, with one of the smaller stables.

The Lazarus Pit was a small company, eight BattleMechs and some fifteen warriors. As near as he could tell, none of the other 'mech pilots owned a 'mech, which meant they were dispossessed. That could mean trouble, he was sure, when he made it in. Of that, he had no doubt. One year of academy training, plus all of the extra lessons he had taken, would be more than a match for washed-up has-beens. 

The 65-ton _Firestorm_ rocked under the blow from the powered-down PPC burst and Bruce tried to back away. The hunched-over design of the torso of his BattleMech provided a large target for the other gladiator's 'mech. His opponent was piloting a beat-up old _BattleMaster_ that was missing the left arm. No doubt this was a practice 'mech as Bruce failed to see how such a thing of barely held together components could ever compete in the arena. "C'mon you wet-nosed little snot, show me what you got!" the other pilot taunted.

Bruce gritted his teeth and switched to his medium lasers. The_ Firestorm_ was a 'mech designed for close-in fighting, but it was meant to handle things like infantry vehicles and tanks, not 'mechs bigger than it. He fired, four beams of crimson coherent light striking the torso of the other 'mech. Had the lasers been fully powered, it would have bored a hole clean through. Instead, the poor paint job blistered and popped leaving only a black mark where the lasers had struck. 

The audition required that Bruce allow the Lazarus Pit technicians go in and dial down his laser output. This wasn't an effort to see who could kill whom; it was to see if Bruce was anything like the image he was trying to front.

Bruce waited for his lasers to recycle and watched as the _BattleMaster_ started to slowly step backwards. Again, he saw the now-familiar blue glow emit from the front of the S.T.A.R. Labs Model 3 Particle Projection Cannon and then the shot reached out at him, hitting just above his cockpit. His battle computer, rigged to see every shot as being at full power registered a weakening of his overhead armor. Bruce fired again, not worrying about the heat because the technicians had not had enough time to rig that up. His 'mech was running as cool as a cucumber.

Again, the torso of the other 'mech was burning paint and Bruce took some satisfaction at the precision of his shots. He was hitting exactly where he wanted to and avoiding the cockpit located in the head of the _BattleMaster_. It would be beneath Bruce to shoot there, even though he was sure he could hit it without error.

The _BattleMaster_ stopped and sagged forward slightly and Bruce figured it was a simulated shut down. If a 'mech heated up too much it would automatically shut down to prevent an explosion. The older 'mech probably had an engine held together by string and wire, Bruce thought with a grin.

Pushing his throttle forward and working the foot pedals, Bruce took off at a run to close the distance between the two. Like a shark in the water, he was closing in for the kill. He switched to machineguns, figuring that at such a close range, he could wedge the high-caliber ammunition in the shoulder and hip joints, freezing up the enemy where he stood. 

As he came within arms length, the other 'mech stood straight up and raised it's one good arm, delivering a thundering strike to the top of the _Firestorm _with such force that Bruce chipped a tooth. He shook his head and realized that he had been suckered and tried to back-up when the PPC fired again, striking the _Firestorm_ in the same area as the blow had landed.

Bruce screamed in rage as his 'mech shut down. It had registered a fatal cockpit breach.

He was dead.

Bruce climbed out of his 'mech and stared up at the damage to the top armor. It was nothing to worry about, easily replaceable and he certainly had the money for it, but it was the shame of defeat that made his eyes sting. He was the son of Thomas Wayne and Martha Wayne, two of the finest MechWarriors that ever lived. Their skill had been passed on to him when he was created. 

The pilot of the _BattleMaster_ climbed down the rope ladder from the cockpit and Bruce waited for him to come over and rub it in his face. He was odd looking for a MechWarrior, tall and skinny, looking more like tech than a warrior in the outlandish red and yellow coveralls he wore. He also sported sunglasses that were even larger than Bruce's.

"You must be Matches," the other pilot said offering his hand.

"Yeah, that's me, what about it?" he replied with true ire in his voice. He had come here to get a spot in the stable and had ended up getting his ass handed to him with a pretty bow on top. 

"Name's Eel, Eel O'Brien, but most people call me Plas," he said with a big smile. He kept his hand out until Bruce took it. 

"Why do they call you that?"

Plas kept the big smile. "'Cause I'm made up mostly of plastic parts. Used to be a big time competitor here but too many injuries have disqualified me. The other stables are afraid I've had some sort of BattleMech-slash-human interface installed so I've been banned from competing." He pointed to the _BattleMaster_. "Even served for a time in the Free Atlantean League as a merc for awhile; that's where I got my 'mech."

"So you make your living beating the crap out of perfectly good 'mechs for no reason?" Bruce was beginning to get even angrier as he noticed a heat sink beginning to leak on his 'mech.

Plas held up hi hands in defense. "Look, buddy, you wanted to try out and you did pretty good. I'm the head tech here now," Bruce grimaced at that realizing his worst fears were coming true, "and I can tell you that your _Firestorm_ has been kept in premium condition."

"It's the pilot that's bad, right?" Bruce remarked as he pulled off his cooling vest. He hadn't even had to plug it during the battle.

"You've got talent, but no experience, kid. You're an academy drop, aren't ya? I can tell, you fight like this is a simulator and its not. In the games, you want to stay away from the enemy, not get in close, which is why your 'mech is no good. You don't pack the firepower for 'mech to 'mech fighting."

Bruce shook his lead. "Hell, I've seen competitions where _Locusts_ and _Jenners_ have fought…"

"Sure, in the lightweight categories. You're a heavy 'mech, which means you'll be fighting the big boys." Plas picked at something in his teeth and then retrieved his smile. "Like I said, you have talent. Your shots were right on the money and to be honest, if your lasers were at full power, you would have cored my gyro."

Bruce's face began to break into a grin. "So, maybe I could survive, eh?"

Plas shook his head. "Buddy, against a fully armed and ready _BattleMaster_, you'd be toast." Bruce looked over at his 'mech and realized it was true. Maybe with more training, he could do some amazing things, but he wasn't Alfred Pennyworth and this wasn't the frontline. "However, I think you got what it takes to be a good 'mech jock. If the boss says its okay, why don't we mothball the _Firestorm_ and start training you in something with some ass in it?"

Bruce suddenly realized that he wasn't being rejected, but his 'mech was. That suited him just fine. It would make it harder for Oracle to find him if he wasn't in the _Firestorm_. "You got it, pal," he said, pulling out a trademark match and lighting it.

"Do you smoke?" Plas asked as he pulled out his pack of smokes.

"No," Bruce said. He found the question disturbing. Why would anyone start such an awful habit.

"So why do you carry matches?" Plas asked as he lit up off of the offered flame.

Ra's Al Ghul studied the video files from Matches Malone's testing with O'Brien, but he said nothing. Whether or not he was impressed was something that he kept buried deep in his brain as he watched the predestined demise of the _Firestorm_. The 'mech was in excellent shape, even though someone had gone to the trouble to make it look as if it had battle damage. His personal technician had looked it over prior to the battle and had commented that it appeared to be a military grade model with all of the recent upgrades. The curious thing was that the IFF transponder had been ripped out and the serial number on the fusion engine had been wiped away with a laser.

Whoever Matches Malone was, despite the lack of practical 'mech experience, he was no fool. This was a man who access to money because only money could pay to have a 'mech look like it was damaged. Poorer people simply shot up their machines to make it look so, but then you were taking the chance of performing some real damage. Malone took no such chances and so that told Ra's that this was a very careful individual.

Except when his blood was boiling. This one had a rage in him as was evidenced in the way he had rushed head on to meet death in the arena. Of course he had lived, O'Brien was too much of a professional to simply kill another pilot. There was no sport in that. Killing one person was a tragedy; killing a million that was art.

Ra's Al Ghul was a man with ambition, great ambition. It was that ambition that had led him to developing this 'mech stable in order to fill his personal bodyguard with the most prolific killers in the Inner Sphere. He would need them in the years to come as his criminal empire slowly began its move towards domination of the Inner Sphere.

It had taken many generations for his family to get to this point. Once, centuries before, his family had been feared on Terra, but now they were forgotten. That was fine, he thought, let them forget, let them believe that the real power was in the hands of the simpletons who ran each House. That would make his eventual takeover all the more sweet.

He froze the image of Matches Malone as he talked with O'Brien and called to his memory any person who even remotely resembled the man. Nothing came to mind but he was still nagged by the thought that he should know who this was. It didn't matter; the man now worked for him and that was that. He would soon begin his training under Lady Shiva, the undisputed champion of Solaris and just one of Ra's' many lovers.

He would let her worry about the stable and the training while he worked on the problem in the Gotham Commonwealth. The damned Steiners were getting itchy for control, making all sorts of ridiculous claims of bloodright and other such nonsense. His backing of them, though discreet, was quite substantial. He needed to see it through if he was going to get his money's worth.

He turned slowly in his chair, his hands together under his well-trimmed beard. Lew Moxon was seated before him, holding a drink. The overweight owner of Moxon's Magic smiled. "Looks like a wiener to me, boss," he said, indicating Malone. "All talk with very little talent."

"I'll be sure to remember your advice," Ra's said in a low voice. "We may have need for another job on New Gotham."

Lew wiped his brow and Ra's noted that the man's hand was shaking. "That one still gives me the willy's boss. Do you know what Oracle will do to me id they find out?"

"Only three people know that I ordered the murder of Thomas and Martha Wayne. Myself, you and the assassin, whomever he or she may be." Ra's reached out and picked up his tea and sipped it before continuing. He spoke slowly as he knew that a man of Moxon's limited intellect would not be able to follow along otherwise. "General Pennyworth turned out to be a better leader than we thought. I always assumed that he would either make a mistake or try to keep the Archon-Prince from taking the throne. Either way, it would have allowed the Steiners to press their claim for rule with the people."

Lew only nodded as political intrigue was as abstract an idea to him as nuclear physics. Ra's continued, letting the man believe he was actually a functional part of the conversation. "This so-called sabbatical that the Archon-Prince has taken, it has me wondering. Our contacts in Oracle say they know nothing about it."

"You think he's planning something? Maybe coming after us?"

_Imbecile._ "No, I was thinking more along the lines of what he could be doing on the inside. If he suspects that the Steiners are involved, he may move against them and that would do no good at all."

"But Melissa Steiner…she don't even know what we did," Lew responded, still shaking a little. The contract on Thomas Wayne had made him in his eyes, put him in the big time. Several times since he had the contract carried out, he had woke up in the middle of the night in a old sweat. Paranoia was now his constant companion as he waited for secret Oracle assassins to come and slit his throat. 

"Yes, even more the pity." Ra's set the tea cup down and leaned back in his chair. "We need someone to kill the Archon-Prince."

Lew's shaking got more violent and he downed the last of his drink. "I don't think I can do that," he finally said.

"I don't expect you to this time, Lew; I only need you to provide me the information to get my assassin in," Ra's responded. "I've found the perfect person for the job and I can assure you that within the year, Bruce Wayne will be dead."


	6. Chapter 5

DC Heroes: MechWarrior I

By: Christopher W. Blaine

e-mail: darth_yoshi@yahoo.com

DISCLAIMER: All characters and situations contained in this story are ©2002 by either DC Comics Inc. or WhizKids and are used without permission for fan-related entertainment purposes only. No profit is made from this story. This original story is ©2002 by Christopher W. Blaine and may not be reproduced either in part or as a whole without the express permission of the author.

Chapter 5 Wayne Summer Estate Blackgate Gotham Commonwealth July 3, 3031 

John Grayson looked in on his young son and smiled. Eleven years ago, when he had failed to save the life of the Archon and his queen, he felt lost. He had been unable to do his duty; he had disgraced himself as an officer and as a loyal citizen of the Commonwealth. There had been nowhere to go, no place to run and hide. His shame had followed him no matter where he went.

Mary, his wife and wingman, had been there to pick him up as he fell apart. General Pennyworth had made the extra effort to try and commend John for his efforts in trying to save the royal couple, but it hadn't been enough. Only Mary's patience and love was able to pull him through. 

The first year after the murder, he had been unable to climb back into the cockpit and he had been placed in an administrative position. Mary had finally convinced him to get back into the pilot's seat and the Flying Graysons were once more patrolling the skies over Justice City. In the process, she had help push him towards the open hand of friendship that General Pennyworth had held out. The older officer's advice and proverbial kick in the pants put John's career back on track.

Then came word of the pregnancy.

Richard was totally unexpected, a miracle and a godsend. For the first two years of their marriage, before Mary had completed her flight training (she had failed out of MechWarrior training), they had tried to have a baby. When they had failed, John had reported to the command physician only to be told that his sperm count was low. 

He still remembered trying to explain that to Mary, she listening intently but at the same time trying to keep a straight face as John went through the complete medical diagnosis in substandard laymen's terms. In the end, she had held him and said they would quit worrying and keep trying. Patience finally paid off.

His son was his salvation, a reason to keep going on. Through Richard, John was sure he could erase the failures of his past. Already the boy was showing an aptitude for piloting, or so John imagined. Running around the house with your arms out like wings was close to wanting to be a pilot.

Mary walked up behind him and put her arms around his waist. "The General is spoiling us, you know that?"

John sighed and turned off the light in the guest room, giving his son the cover of darkness. Both he and Mary stepped into the hallway of the mansion now on loan to them as they took a much-needed leave from the 1st Gotham Guards. "He feels bad that the manor isn't being used."

She rolled her eyes and slipped comfortably into his embrace as they walked. "You mean he wants the lights on so the press thinks Bruce is here."

John shrugged. "I get two weeks to live like royalty; who cares what the reason is?"

They started down the stairs, their footsteps silenced by the plush red carpeting. Rich woods imported directly from Earth and hand crafted by local artisans that made the mansion warm and unique. "Aren't you worried about Bruce?"

"No," John admitted. "Nothing was going to stop him from going, we all knew that. Gordon has arranged for several Oracle agents to keep an eye on him."

"They don't know where he is, John," Mary reminded him. "He could be dead."

"Don't say that, dear," John admonished. The idea of losing another member of the Wayne family was the stuff of his nightmares. "Besides, I know for a fact that Bruce has a guardian angel of sorts watching over him."

They reached the bottom of the stairs and walked hand in hand past the large stone fireplace towards the large picture window. "What is that supposed to mean?" she asked.

His reply was cut off by the sound of the glass breaking as the high velocity projectile crashed through both the window and John's neck. The carotid artery was struck and blood spurted out in a fountain. Before the blood had a chance to be grasped by gravity, another shot penetrated Mary's brain, killing her instantly as it exploded out the back of her skull. 

John watched in horror as his wife fell back, her hand reaching out to his as he slowly began to lose his senses. He turned out the window even as his hot blood poured from his wound. He opened his mouth to shout a warning to his son and when he did, a plastic bullet went through his open mouth and severed his spinal cord. His last thoughts as his body fell to the floor next to his wife were of his son and his dashed hopes for the future.

"Damn! That was a helluva shot," Zucco said to the sniper. The gunman continued to dismantle his rifle. "How?"

"His teeth flash in the starlight," was the comment as the killer removed the night scope. Once he was finished, he put the weapon in it's carrying case. Both men got up and began to walk towards Zucco's hovercar. "I expect the rest of my money to be deposited by the time we get back to your place."

Zucco nodded. As the planetary boss for Ra's Al Ghul's organization, he was responsible for making sure that the hitman was paid in full. To do otherwise would sully the honor of Al Ghul and spell death for Zucco. "I also got you passage on a dropship heading into hawk territory." The Coordinator of the Thanagarian Combine was often referred to as the Hawk, the symbol of Thanagarian strength and power.

The sniper removed a monocle he had strapped over his eye and put it in his pocket. "Fine. Whatever. I just want out of here as soon as possible."

Zucco waited for his companion to get in before starting the engine. In the background, he thought he could hear shouting coming from the Wayne estate as the security forces scrambled to the scene of carnage. That was impossible he thought, surely they were too far away. "If my boss wants to get a hold of you?"

The man twirled his moustache, a nervous habit he had developed since he quit smoking. "He won't. I'll get with him."

Zucco thought the man was too cocky for his own good. Damn good shot though. "So, I never did get your name…"

"Deadshot. They call me Deadshot when I'm working. My real name is for my mother and whoever I'm sleeping with." He gave Zucco a hard stare. "You don't qualify for either."

Zucco nodded and turned onto the main highway to reach a small terminal. From there, Deadshot would ride public transportation to a major spaceport located hundreds of kilometers away where he would get on a DropShip heading far away from Blackgate.

He attempted to make conversation again, hating the silence. "So, did you take out the Archon and his wife?"

Deadshot snorted. "I was in basic training when that happened. Naw, that was someone else. A MechWarrior I heard."

"You ever pilot a 'mech?"

"Naw," he said looking out the window. "That's too dangerous for me."

Zucco said nothing as Deadshot chuckled at what was obviously a private joke.

Bruce stepped out of the café, wiping his mouth on his sleeve in typical MechWarrior style. The Thanagarian cooking was beginning to actually taste good he thought. It was all he had been eating for several weeks now since he began the training program with the other MechWarriors of the stable that did not have their own 'mechs.

Following the advice Plas had given him, he had put the _Firestorm_ into long-term storage, paid for by his new employer Ra's Al Ghul. Bruce had asked about the origin of the name and he had been told it was Arabic and essentially meant, "Head of the Demon". An odd name, but Bruce wasn't about to pass judgment. The training he was receiving not only in piloting, but also in self-defense was intensive and difficult, and he found himself loving every minute of it. 

For a time now, he had actually fallen into the Matches Malone persona fully, living the life of someone skirting the law and living dangerously. Lady Shiva had taken a special interest in him, providing him lessons in the martial arts that she did not teach to others. He had questioned it at first; his academy did not spend a lot of time going over hand-to-hand combat.

"Every MechWarrior ejects at some point; nobody can keep a 'mech up forever. Hopefully, you will be able to get your 'mech back into working order one day, but even if you cannot, you must be able to defend yourself once you reach the ground. All of the treaties and agreements and conventions governing warfare be damned. War is about killing. The enemy will kill you or you will kill the enemy." She had stood there after giving her speech and then they had made love.

He smiled. Lady Shiva was different from every other woman he had ever known and she had been his first lover. There was a martial aspect to her he didn't quite understand, but found intoxicating at the same time. Their couplings were filled with intensity that he could only compare to combat. Sometimes he wondered if she were truly human and when he asked about where she had come from, she only smiled. "Far away, my student." 

Her speech was perfect, almost poetic in the way she never used contractions and one of the others in his group stated that Lady Shiva had once belonged to the Legion, the premier mercenary outfit in the Inner Sphere right next to Wolf's Dragoons. In fact, some people speculated that the two units were actually from the same place and that Jaime Wolf and Monel Blood Spirit were actually brothers in arms.

Bruce didn't worry about that. He was just happy to be doing something so useful. It wasn't all fun and games either, he thought. Plas had taken him to watch Moxon's Magic in action against the Sword of Light Regiment, a stable sponsored by none other than Takashi Kurita, the Thanagarian Minister of Honor. Apparently it was commonplace for Thanagarian nobles to sponsor such teams not only on Solaris, but on other gaming worlds as well. Because the Minister of Honor was not a military position, his team was considered legitimate for contending for top prizes.

Bruce had assumed that whomever had piloted the _Bane_ that had killed his parents had to be one of the better and older warriors under Moxon's control. More than likely, such a villain would have spent his earnings from the killings and would have returned to Moxon to earn a living. There were several likely candidates, but Bruce had yet to see someone who was as vicious as the man who killed his parents pilot a 'mech into the arena.

He was, in fact, on his way now to go see a match. It was required for the training, to see how the competition worked and see if any flaws in their methods. Bruce picked up his pace and failed to notice he had a companion until the other man spoke up. "May the green flame shine about you," the man said as they walked.

Bruce stopped, as did the man. He saw the familiar red-green-black uniform of a GreenStar MechWarrior. The man was about five to six years older than Bruce and of African ancestry. He wore an easy smile as Bruce gave the standard reply. "And may the truth be shown as it does. To what do I owe the pleasure, Corpsman…"

"Stewart, John Stewart, of the Fifteenth Green Lantern Corps," was the reply. John beckoned that they continue walking. "I am surprised that your disguise is working."

Bruce gave a nonchalant shrug. It was obvious that the man knew who he was and denying it would solve nothing. GreenStar was officially neutral in all matters concerning the Great Houses. The Fifteenth Green Lantern Corps was the detachment assigned duty to protect the HPG stations on Solaris. "It works on those who do not wish to see."

"Indeed. I bring a message from home," John told him as he reached out and grabbed a piece of fruit off of a cart. Bruce answered even as he wanted to tell the man to pay for the fruit.

"So? I already know what they want. I'm not going home until I find my parents' killer. Perhaps if GreenStar would provide me with information regarding any communications between New Gotham and the killer…"

"I'm afraid not. Though, it was not for a lack of trying. Such information would be great bargaining chip, I'm sure, when the next communications contracts come up." John took a bite of the fruit before continuing. "You'll be happy to know that Oracle still hasn't figured out where you are."

"I was wondering why I hadn't been contacted yet," Bruce replied, adjusting his sunglasses. Walking with the Corpsman was making him stick out. "Look, what is this about? Are you going to try and take me in?"

John shook his head. "No; matters of revenge are beneath our blessed order. However, you know that our founder, the blessed Alan Scott, was from New Gotham." Bruce nodded; it was a historical fact. Alan Scott had left his job as an engineer to become a communications specialist for General Jonathan Kent during the Sivanna Coup. Because communications were so important, the task of protecting the HPG stations under Kent's command fell to the Darkstars and Green Lantern Corps, two neutral peace-keeping forces of the Inner Sphere at the time. "As such, you might say that those of us who follow the true Lantern's Light have a particular interest in the affairs of the Commonwealth."

That was interesting to Bruce. He had always been led to believe that GreenStar was one great big happy family. Apparently, there were differences in opinion and it was information that he might be able to use in the future. "And what does that have to do with me?"

"There has been an assassination attempt on Blackgate. We believe, as does the Archon-General, that you were the target. Captain John Grayson and his wife were killed." John saw Bruce visibly pale and he directed him over to seat at an outdoor coffeehouse. The Thanagarian waitress came up and growled for their order. John asked for two coffees, black.

"Is Richard…?"

"He is fine, asleep when the murders occurred but he was awakened when the shots broke out a glass window. He was the first person to discover the bodies." John frowned. "The incident is being kept out of the press until you return. Which is why the Archin-General, who is a personal friend of mine, asked me to find you."

"How? Who?" Bruce could not summon the words his lips wanted to form. All he could picture was his friends' dead. He imagined the horror that Richard must have felt and he realized that a strange sort of bond was already forming between the two of them despite the distance.

"They don't know, but it us being investigated. The Archon-General wants you to remain here in disguise. He wants you to stay out of it."

Bruce shot up and pulled his sunglasses off. "No! Nobody is going to die because of me!"

John reached out a strong hand and pulled Bruce down into his chair, while several patrons looked on. He leaned in close and whispered. "Shut the hell up! If you keep shooting off your mouth like that, you'll be dead!" He waited until the coffee was served before he let Bruce go. He sat back and looked at the young man who was trying to control the raging emotions within him. "We believe that Oracle has a spy in it."

"We?"

"Officially, GreenStar is not involved. Unofficially, I am. General Pennyworth saved my life before I joined the order. I owe him more than you can imagine. When Oracle couldn't find you, he contacted me. It took all of five minutes to find you but only because I can access comms that Oracle can't." He looked around to ensure that no one was listening. "I want you to continue doing what you are doing. Trust nobody."

"You want me to trust you," Bruce replied, wiping away a forming tear. He knew he had to maintain the façade.

"You have no choice there." He downed the coffee. "If you need me, send a message to my barracks under the name of Katma Tui." Bruce looked at him oddly. "She's a fellow member of the order that I am very close to. The adepts running the communications center won't think twice of it. Have the message state you want me to pick up something wherever it is you want to meet."

"Will you send word…"

"Back to the General? Yeah, I can manage one message without drawing suspicion. Remember, you must remain this Malone character until they are sure you will be safe back home." John laid a few G-bills on the table and bowed his head. "I wish you health and happiness, Matches Malone."

Strange sentiments Bruce thought as he watched the Corpsman head off in the direction they had come from. It was all so surreal to him. He had left home to find his parents killers just in the nick of time. Somebody wanted him dead and they had killed his friends, his loyal subjects to try and do it.

Something burned inside Bruce, something about what Alfred had talked to him about. It set the bile churning in his stomach as he considered that he had a responsibility to the people he was to rule. Because of his foolishness, good people had died. The regret weighed heavily on his shoulders.

"I'll make it up to you, John," he said silently. "I promise I'll watch over Richard; I'll be like a father to him. It's the least I can do."

That night, Bruce attended the arena match and while Matches Malone cheered with the crowds, Bruce Wayne mourned lost friends. 

He sat He


	7. Chapter 6

DC Heroes: MechWarrior I

By: Christopher W. Blaine

e-mail: darth_yoshi@yahoo.com

DISCLAIMER: All characters and situations contained in this story are ©2002 by either DC Comics Inc. or WhizKids and are used without permission for fan-related entertainment purposes only. No profit is made from this story. This original story is ©2002 by Christopher W. Blaine and may not be reproduced either in part or as a whole without the express permission of the author.

Chapter 6 Romanus (Thanagarian Sector) Solaris Gotham Commonwealth January 17, 3032 

"You have excelled in your training, Matches Malone," Lady Shiva said as she sat in the lotus position, her eyes closed. Opposite her, Bruce sat much the same way only his eyes were open. He never closed his eyes anymore; he even rationalized that he slept with his eyes open. Never again would he ever be caught off guard. Not physically. Not spiritually. Not emotionally. "You have put forth a fierceness that I have not seen in many ages," she said.

Bruce said nothing and took cold comfort in the compliment. Ever since the day he had learned of John and Mary Grayson's death at the hands of an assassin that had been gunning for him, he had focused his heartache into his training. His list of people deserving of his wraith was growing. 

"You have nothing to say, _quineg?_" she asked, again speaking as if she were descended from the Justice League. 

"Neg," he replied, speaking in the way she had taught him to. In the chamber when they trained he could only speak as she did. No contractions. No waste. In speech and in deed, everything that was done in here was done efficiently. "If I show fierceness or more joy in what I do it is because I want to be a great warrior."

"And what does that mean, Matches Malone? What is a great warrior?" she asked, opening her eyes slowly. She was quite beautiful and very deadly. She could kill Bruce a thousand different ways, as she had proven the first day when one of the other trainees had proven to be disruptive. She had snapped his neck so quickly that he was dead before the sound of the bones breaking reached the other students. Bruce had to fight the urge that day to cry out but he soon learned that the man had been wanted on several worlds for various violent crimes.

Still, killing in cold blood seemed wrong to him. The man should have had the benefit of a trial. Shiva had noted Bruce's disdain and at first had taunted him about it. When he refused to budge from his position, she had come to respect it but still thought it foolish. 

"A warrior is not one who wins wars," he said.

"True."

"A warrior is one who honorably defends what is their charge, be it a person, a place or an object. It does not matter."

She smiled. "Is not victory the goal of all warriors?"

"Victory is a goal, but honor is a way of life. Victory without honor is meaningless. It is far better to suffer defeat with your honor intact."

She slowly stood up, her nude body silhouetted in the moonlight. He felt himself stirring as he looked upon her. His training had far exceeded the others and he was already advancing by leaps and bounds. He was trained alone now either here or in the arena late at night. Afterwards, it was always the same; lovemaking until the sun broke the horizon. 

Through Shiva, he had shed much of his boyish innocence as she initiated him into the world of manhood. Her strenuous program of calisthenics and 'mech piloting in a machine missing several heat sinks had burned away what had remained of his baby fat. His beard was coming in quite dark and she helped him dye it red. She stated that his reasons for hiding his true identity were his alone and he would reveal them to those he wished to know. "Besides my lover, I know red isn't your natural color," she had said with a lustful glare.

Bruce knew that soon their time would be over. She had told him that he could no longer learn anything else in the classroom, that experience and cold reality would soon become his instructor. Tonight was his final test. No mock battles, no practicing with the many weapons adorned on the wall. It was a simple ask and answer session.

She walked over to him and held out her hands. It was ironic that hands that could easily be used for killing could also be used for loving. He wondered if that made her more human. "Were we to have been raised together, a fine warrior I am sure you would have become."

He took her hands and stood up. He then pulled her to his chest. His embrace was filled with real emotion. He hated saying good-bye. In a way, the constant routine of training and coupling had become more familiar to him then his previous life. A part of him wanted it to continue forever, but his mind told him it could not. "Were we raised together, I may have fallen in love."

She laughed lightly. It was the same laugh she used after killing an opponent. "Love has no meaning for me, Matches Malone, but I do feel a fondness for you. Should I ever have to kill you, I promise to make it painless."

He pushed her back so he could look into her almond-shaped eyes. Yes, he very well could have fallen in love with her, despite the twenty-year age difference. "You would kill me?"

"I am bound to Ra's Al Ghul; it is through him I achieve my honor. In ritual combat did he defeat me many years ago," she said sadly. It was obvious to Bruce that whatever she was talking about, the life she had led prior to coming into Ra's Al Ghul's employ was much more preferable to the one she had now. "Still, it is not all bad. Come, share my bed this one last night before you take your place with the stable warriors."

He allowed her to lead him to the bed and he did not leave for many, many hours.

"You come with high marks, junior," Plas said as Bruce poured himself some coffee. The older MechWarrior was looking over Matches Malone's training dossier. "Got through the advanced training too? Hell, I haven't gotten that far." He closed the folder and handed it back to Bruce. Both men were waiting outside the office of Ra's Al Ghul. This was to be Bruce's first time meeting his mysterious employer and he hoped that by gaining the good graces of the man, he might learn more about possible suspects in his parents' murder.

"It was fun," Bruce replied, smiling large.

Plas nodded. "I'm sure it was. I hear you and Shiva got really close."

Bruce sipped at his coffee. "Well, let's just say old Matches could light her fire."

Plas laughed. "I heard she kicked your ass a lot. A whole lot."

Bruce said nothing, but forced himself to blush. Shiva had taught him much about body control and how to fake emotional responses to confuse an enemy. Many times he had thought she was filled with lust right before she would land a roundhouse kick to his jaw. Before Plas could prod for more details, the door opened and a young woman stepped out.

Bruce's heart stopped and he felt himself get weak in the knees. It was like meeting Selina for the first time all over again, but different somehow. The woman was young, probably younger than Bruce, with olive skin and long, dark hair. She spoke with an accent Bruce could quite place, but found warming. "My father will see you now," she said, gesturing inside.

Bruce pulled off his sunglasses, wanting to take her in without the shading of the natural light. With Selina, he had felt infatuation. With Shiva, it had been lust. Now, he was sure, he was feeling love. He did not want to go into the office; he wanted to remain outside with her. He probably would not have gone in if she hadn't waited for the two men and went inside herself.

Bruce almost pushed Plas down to the floor trying to get in, but then he stopped when he saw the man seated in the expensive leather chair. The man reminded Bruce of a monarch, the way his gaze seemed to be regal. His posture suggested someone secure in their position in life, not worried about the trivial things that plagued the common man. His moustache and goatee were perfectly trimmed, as was his dark hair with the ever so slight hint of gray at the temples. 

Bruce was immediately wary of this man. He reminded the Archon-Prince of a picture of Thanagarian Combine Coordinator Katar Hol he had seen once. An angry man trying very hard to be pleasant. "Welcome, Matches Malone; I bid thee enter and be comfortable," Ra's said, gesturing for Bruce to sit down.

Bruce managed to summon enough self-control to keep his eyes on Ra's and not his daughter, who took a convenient place behind her father. Plas stood behind Bruce. "And Mr. O'Brien, it is always good to see that you are functional."

Plas smiled and adjusted his awkward glasses. Bruce had learned that Plas's glasses were actually capable of allowing him to see up to 100 times magnification. A very handy thing to have when working on BattleMechs. "Just happy to be alive, sir," Plas responded.

Bruce didn't say anything at first, but the silence made him feel awkward. "I do appreciate everything you have done for me, Mr. Al Ghul," Bruce started, not exactly sure was title he should be using.

If he made a mistake, it was not evident in Ra's reply. "I would like to say I did it purely out of the goodness of my heart, Mr. Malone, but that would be a lie. I hope that you will win me a good deal of money as you compete for me."

"Of course, sir, I only meant that the training I have received has been more than I could hope for," Bruce offered.

"Tell me, Mr. Malone," Ra's daughter began, "where is it that you come from that you have a military-grade BattleMech in your possession?"

Her voice was like angels singing and Bruce's tongue seemed loose and flaccid as he tried to come up with an answer. He had worked on his cover story so hard that it was second nature to him now. "Forgive Talia, Mr. Malone," Ra's said with an eye to the woman, "but she sometimes forgets her manners. You origins are not important."

"I'd like to answer if I may, sir," Bruce started, swallowing hard. Talia was looking directly at him and he felt as if he were falling into her eyes. "The BattleMech is my inheritance from my uncle. I come from a small, yet prosperous family that is spread out from the Metropolitan Suns to the Free Atlantean League." Bruce suddenly realized he was not in character, so entranced that he had forgotten for a moment that he was wearing a disguise. "My old man and I had a fight, so I left. He wanted me to go to the Metropolis Academy, but I wasn't into the scene."

Ra's expression did not change, but his eyes seemed to flash recognition and Bruce wondered if he had just made a very fatal error. "Indeed, Mr. Malone," Ra's said, letting the name hang in the air just a little too long. "We sometimes are haunted by the expectations our parents put on us. Is that not right, my daughter?"

Talia bent down and kissed her father's cheek. "I live to serve, my father." She stood back up and gave Bruce a faint smile. What did that mean he wondered? 

"I have scheduled you for your first battle next week. Mr. O'Brien will be preparing your 'mech. I have selected a unique one for you based upon your skills. It is a Gotham design, very unique even in the Commonwealth. Are you familiar with the _Batman_?"

Bruce swallowed. "Y-yeah, I've heard of it. Big 'mech."

Ra's nodded and stood up. He walked over to a curtain and pulled it back to reveal the rear of the building. Several BattleMechs were standing there, a sort of silent sentry garrison. In the middle was the distinctive form of the _Batman_, the 'mech that his father had died in. 

Only this one was not painted in the gray and blue scheme of the Gotham Commonwealth. This had some sort of desert camouflage color scheme. It seemed unnatural on the machine but Bruce his feelings by putting his sunglasses back on as he approached the window. "It is a powerful machine and will easily dispatch any other similar 'mech with the correct pilot. I expect it to be the main attraction at next week's fight."

"I'll kick ass," Bruce said, but his voice was softer than he would have liked. First Talia and now the _Batman_; he was being thrown too many curves at one time and he needed to step back and get some perspective. "Where'd it come from?"

"Ah, it seems that it was acquired by Thanagarian Combine after the death of the Archon, Thomas Wayne. I believed they hoped to study it for their own use, but they discarded it as a flawed design." Ra's smiled politely as if waiting for Bruce to disagree and he wondered if Ra's knew the truth.

He put the thought out of his mind. If Ra's knew who he was, he certainly wouldn't let him fight for him. Better to send Bruce home under guard and collect the good graces of the Archon-General. "It's a good design, but you know how those hawks get; if it don't have a bird's name, its no good."

"Precisely the reason why I was able to purchase it so cheaply." He closed the curtains. "You will be housed in the MechWarrior quarters; I will assign O'Brien as you tech for the time being until I can secure the services of a competent one. I can't have my head technician out of the loop for too long."

Ra's reached out and shook hands with Bruce before dismissing him. When both Bruce and Plas were out of the room, Ra's turned to his daughter. "He finds you attractive, it throws him off his guard. Did you note the change in accent?'

She nodded and walked over to the wet bar to pour some drinks. "Commonwealth, sounds a hint like a New Gotham one. He could be an Oracle agent."

Ra's shook his head and received the drink offered by his daughter. "No, he has regal bearing that he is trying to hide, but I can see it in his eyes."

"They are pretty eyes," Talia commented.

"Really? Is it possible that you have found a mate? Can I count on grandchildren finally?" Ra's laughed as he took a drink. "He is of noble blood, most likely a Steiner. How unfortunate that they breed like cockroaches, we will probably never discover which one he is."

"What if he is a Wayne?" she asked.

"Impossible. Bruce Wayne is dead. Our spy in Oracle confirmed that both he and a concubine were killed on Blackgate. For pity's sake, they burned the bodies and scattered the ashes over the royal gardens." He downed his drink and held it up for another. His daughter dutifully obeyed. "The only reason word isn't out is because Pennyworth is probably trying to sober Matthew Wayne up so he can assume the throne before Melissa Steiner makes a bid for power." Matthew Wayne was the only other living Wayne eligible for the throne; a distant cousin to the murdered Archon Thomas Wayne.

"Could she really do it?" 

Ra's nodded. "Yes. Without a legitimate heir, she could press the people to demand that a healthy and strong house be given control. In the Commonwealth, that means only one family, Steiner."

Talia finished making the drink and handed it to her father. "And, of course, she will be indebted to you for all of the financial support you have provided for her family's various political movements."

He clanged his glass to hers. "I expect something along the lines of a generalship. From there, I can fill the officer corps with my loyal followers that are already spread throughout the Inner Sphere. In a few short years, I will be able to assert military control over the Gotham Commonwealth. After that, nothing will stop me from ruling the Inner Sphere as First Lord of the renewed Justice League!"


	8. Chapter 7

DC Heroes: MechWarrior I

By: Christopher W. Blaine

e-mail: darth_yoshi@yahoo.com

DISCLAIMER: All characters and situations contained in this story are ©2002 by either DC Comics Inc. or WhizKids and are used without permission for fan-related entertainment purposes only. No profit is made from this story. This original story is ©2002 by Christopher W. Blaine and may not be reproduced either in part or as a whole without the express permission of the author.

Chapter 7 Romanus (Free Atlantean Area) Solaris Gotham Commonwealth January 23, 3032 

"Colonel Bloodspirit?" an aide called out from the door to the private dining room.

Monel Bloodspirit, commanding officer of the Legion, turned from his meal and looked to the man. "Yes?"

"Colonel Jaime Wolf to see you, sir."

Monel chuckled. "Please, lead the wolf into my den."

The man nodded and exited from the doorway. Monel turned back to his meal and continued eating, enjoying the barely cooked beef. Though seafood dishes were the specialty found in Free Atlantean League restaurants, they were also known for their exquisite herd animal meals as well. His companion hadn't even bothered to look up from his food. "What the hell does he want?"

"Easy, Val," Monel said between bites. "We are all friends here."

"I'd like to think so," Jaime Wolf said from next to them. The smaller man with the dark beard had entered without a sound. Val blanched at the use of contractions and muttered a curse.

"Freebirth."

A tall redheaded woman in a black jumpsuit folded her arms over her chest. Her belt buckle displayed a black widow spider on a red background. "You sure as hell better not have directed that at me, surat!"

Jaime smiled and Monel stood up. "No, Natasha, not you, just this bastard born of a woman." He extended his hand to Jaime who took it. The handshake was honest enough. Both men were warriors on a mission for their masters and that made them allies despite the circumstances of their births. "Good to see you again. What brings you here?" Monel asked, indicating they should sit.

A steward brought in coffee and pastries and then exited as the mercenaries began to talk. "Just curious is all."

"Curious? Or is it something in your inferior genes that draws you to the spectacle of these games?" Val asked with a sneer. 

Jaime merely shook his head. In 3004, the descendants of Jonathan Kent's exodus from the Inner Sphere some 300 years before, now called the Clans, decided to send a group of warriors to the Inner Sphere. Disguised as mercenaries, they were to infiltrate the militaries of the Great Houses to determine what the threat potential would be if the Clans invaded.

The separate Clans battled between themselves for the honor of sending their warriors to pose as the mercenaries. Clan Wolf won the battle, but in the end lost the war. The Wolf Clan put together a group made up of freebirth warriors, those born naturally and considered second-class citizens. Clan Blood Spirit was the most vocal in their disapproval of this move. They had claimed that the word of a freebirth warrior would not be enough to trust, that the entire Clan thrust into the Inner Sphere was too important to rely on the word of those who genes had not been selected by the Clan scientists.

Clan Wolf agreed and stated that any Trueborn warrior, one who was created through advanced genetics and artificial wombs, could go with the faux mercenaries under the command of Jaime and Joshua Wolf. A few did, even one young hellfire named Natasha Kerensky. She was a direct ancestor of General Alexandr Kerensky, Jonathan Kent's executive officer. It was Alexandr's son, Nicholas, who had developed the idea of the Clans. 

Even with Natasha as part of Wolf's Dragoons, the more reactionary elements of the Clans were not satisfied. Afraid that the infighting would get out of control, a decision had been made to also send a group of Trueborn warriors as well, thus the Legion was born. Composed of cadets that had failed their Trials of Position and warriors considered too old for combat, the Legion represented some Trueborn's only hope of dying with honor.

"Don't talk to me of spectacles, Val; I qualified as a Clan warrior, you qualified as a washout. Freeborn or not, I am your superior," Jaime said with a smile.

"And I am yours," Monel said as he offered cream to Natasha. "I believe you have gotten prettier."

She shook a finger at him. "Just because you were born a wolf does not mean you can lay in the den, Monel Bloodspirit," she replied. Monel had been captured by Clan Blood Spirit early in his career and taken as a Bondsman. After a year of menial service to his new Clan, he was awarded the title of warrior and accepted into the Clan formally. His dark hair and eyes hinted at the genes of Clark Kent, the son of Jonathan Kent, and a founder of Clan Wolf. "Let us dispense with the usual curses and speak freely."

Val made a sour face but kept his comments to himself. After putting sugar in his coffee, Jaime started the talks. "Some of my officers and I are here to take a look at some of the more unique 'mechs in action. I assume that's why you're here?"

Monel nodded. "I am most interested in the Keystone Confederation's _Flashman II_. I understand it is quite fast."

Jaime raised his eyebrows and looked to Natasha who shrugged. "I wasn't aware that any had made it here. I thought that was a new model."

Sipping his coffee, Monel replied nonchalantly. "Aff, it is, but we have learned that Eobarde Thawne's Cobalt Blue stable stole one right from under Prince of the Sun Allen's nose."

"I hadn't heard that," Jaime said, making a mental note to ride his intelligence people a little harder. "I hear that the Lazarus Pit has a _Batman_."

Val blanched. "Garbage, complete and utter garbage and you know it. Inner Sphere junk! At least the _Flashman II_ is based upon an older Justice League design."

"I've heard that Thomas Wayne was something of genius when it came to 'mech design," Natasha commented. "It was the workmanship that was bad."

"It doesn't matter," Monel interjected. He changed the subject abruptly. "Have you heard the rumors about some of the fighters?"

"That they appear to be Clan trained? Yes," Jaime said, his face giving nothing away. "It means one of us may have turned traitor."

"You are the one who takes in the spheroids, Wolf," Val accused. "The Legion has only Clan. None of our members would ever betray our sacred oath." His Asian features were twisted in disgust. Jaime could only imagine the temper tantrum Val had thrown when he had failed his Trial of Position. 

"How many warriors do you have?" Natasha asked Monel. 

"Last count was sixty MechWarriors; that does not include our techs, infantry and armor personnel. You have many, many more…but then again, you take the bigger contracts." The insult was subtle, but Jaime picked up on it. Mercenaries, warriors who sold their skills for money and did not use them for honor, were considered beneath filth by the Clans. It made the Clan Council's choice of having their advance team pose as such dishonorable beings all the more ironic.

"Have you had any warriors quit?" Jaime asked.

"What do you suggest, Wolf?" Val demanded. His face was reddening and both of the Dragoons wondered why in the name of Kent that Monel had brought him along. Then Natasha remembered that Val was one of the best hand-to-hand combatants that the Smoke Jaguars ever produced, winning several cadet titles before washing out of warrior training. She admired Monel for not only tolerating Val's belligerent attitude, but the entire Legion. They were all wash outs from all of the other Clans, under the command of bondsman MechWarrior that belonged to a Clan that had taken him as a spoil of war.

Natasha decided not to teach Val a lesson but instead let her commander do the talking. "I suggest nothing; I only ask if any of your warriors had deserted. Someone is instructing the gladiator warriors in the ways of the Clans. That training, in turn, is turning out very proficient killers."

"It will do no good once the Clans invade," Monel said with a shrug. "A handful of children playing at being a warrior will not tip the sales in their favor."

"Yes, with that I agree, but when will the Clans come, Monel? You assume that the Crusaders will push the Wardens into the invasion." Jaime reached for the coffee pot that had been left and topped off his cup. "What effect has our presence had on the Inner Sphere?"

Monel considered it for a moment. What was the Wolf getting to? "We have become the standard by which the other mercenary units hold themselves up to."

"Rightly so since we are their superiors," Val added.

"Think of how it would be," Jaime said calmly, "if one single entity, say a minor noble, began employing a bodyguard of Clan trained warriors? It could tip the balance of power in any of the Great Houses. This would be unacceptable, _quiaff_?"

"Aff," Monel said, putting hands on the table. He closed his deep blue eyes and seemed to ponder the universe, so serious was his expression. When he opened his eyes, there was a clarity to them. "Shiva."

Val shook his head. "Neg, Colonel…"

Natasha finally interrupted. "Who is Shiva?"

Val answered, his voice uncharacteristically soft. "She was a warrior of the Smoke Jaguars. We share some of the same genes, though she is older than I. She was a commander in the Legion."

"Was?" Jaime asked.

"Shiva was considered past her prime when the offer came to join up with us. That was over ten years ago when I had requested fresh troops from the Clan Council," Monel said. Unlike the Dragoons, the Legion received steady supplies from the Clan homeworlds, including replacement warriors. Monel was the only original member of the Legion still active and despite the fact he was well into middle age, he did not look it. Such was the magic of the Clan's genetics program. "She was supposedly killed on her first mission against bandits. We were in the employ of House Luthor at the time. We never recovered her body."

"She must have been a great warrior," Natasha said, noticing that Val was almost an invalid as he contemplated the meaning. 

When the Clans had sent the Dragoons and the Legion to the Inner Sphere, it was with the understanding that none of the Clans secrets would be passed on. It was a matter of honor. The Dragoons had skirted that issue, but had not completely crossed it, but that was not surprising to Monel. He was once a Wolf and he understood the Warden viewpoint that personified that Clan. They had no desire to invade the Inner Sphere, instead they felt they should be protectors of it, much as the Justice League Task Force had.

Monel was now a member of the Blood Spirits. That meant he was a Crusader, one who wished to conquer and rule the Inner Sphere. "She was, but she was not happy about being retired."

"That is true; she felt betrayed by her Clan," Val remarked.

"Then this is most likely a Legion problem," Jaime said as he stood up. Natasha joined him.

Monel looked up at him. "You knew?"

"I suspected. I can account for all members of the Dragoons, so I figured it was one of your people. This was exactly what I argued over when I was given command of the Dragoons. Two mercenary groups is too much; it leads to mistakes." He bowed slightly in respect. "I will leave this in your capable hands, Colonel Monel."

"I suspected you would, Colonel Wolf," Monel replied, watching the two Dragoons exit the dining room. He turned to Val. "If he is correct, this is an honor matter. If Shiva is training…"

"And if she was captured and made a bondsman? Then she is honor bound to train them to the best of her ability," Val said, smacking a fist on the table. The thought of someone from his genetic line betraying their oath to the Clans was bothering him greatly.

"If that is the case, I will allow you the honor of fighting a Trial of Possession for her and we will send her back to the Clans."


	9. Chapter 8

DC Heroes: MechWarrior I

By: Christopher W. Blaine

e-mail: darth_yoshi@yahoo.com

DISCLAIMER: All characters and situations contained in this story are ©2002 by either DC Comics Inc. or WhizKids and are used without permission for fan-related entertainment purposes only. No profit is made from this story. This original story is ©2002 by Christopher W. Blaine and may not be reproduced either in part or as a whole without the express permission of the author.

Chapter 8 Romanus (Thanagarian Sector) Solaris Gotham Commonwealth January 23, 3032 

_It doesn't smell the same_.

Bruce adjusted the fusion engine throttle to a low idle and started running through a standard systems check. It wasn't really necessary, considering who his tech was. Plas had gone over every inch of the _Batman_ at least twice in the past twenty-four hours. The BattleMech was as ready as it ever would be. Bruce just wondered if he was ready.

Several things were going through his mind, his main thought being the last time he had sat in the cockpit of a _Batman_. He nearly died then and though this was a "sporting" event, there was always the chance of a fatal encounter. His weapons systems read okay, his load out was standard, nothing fancy for the upcoming fight. Of course, his father had used a standard weapons array as well…

Bruce had at least one advantage over his father and that was his armor. Plas had inspected every piece to ensure they were of acceptable quality and gauge. Bruce did not relish the idea of walking his 'mech out into the arena only to have his legs shot out from the first volley.

A voice came over his headset. "My father and I wish you luck, courage and victory, Matches Malone," Talia said. Her voice made gooseflesh spring up on Bruce's neck. "We have considerable sums riding on you this day."

He switched to his façade voice. "I aim to satisfy in everything I do."

"I am quite sure you do, Mr. Malone, but that is not a conversation for now," she said. She ended the transmission, leaving just a hint of what could be in the static. 

Bruce suppressed a large smile and instead went through the mental exercises that Lady Shiva had taught him. A warrior had to be focused on the battle. A warrior had to put all other thoughts aside because those thoughts were superfluous. If the warrior died in battle, then other concerns became moot.

"Respect your enemy, for they may be the one that sends you to your death and such an accomplishment is worthy of praise if you are truly a warrior," she had said.

Bruce engaged the engine, mashed the foot pedals and increased the throttle. The newly-painted black _Batman_ stepped out of the Lazarus Pit bay and into the massive tunnel that led into the arena. His footsteps echoed, creating a tempo of war. His breathing began to match the footsteps and his head became clear.

The _Batman _stepped into the lights and the crowds cheered. He was receiving a standing ovation, but it was no wonder. Assault-class 'mech battles were the favorites of  the crowds because it meant more bang for the buck. 

Bruce's opponent the stepped into the arena and received a similar greeting. The _Cyclops_ was painted white and red and Bruce noted the red/black dragon emblem on the left thigh. On the right was a sword radiating light. The opposing 'mech was from the Sword of Light, Takashi Kurita's stable.

Bruce was well aware of Takashi Kurita, the Minister of Honor for the Thanagarian Combine. He was the one of Katar Hol's most ardent supporters in matters concerning the destruction of the Gotham Commonwealth and the Metropolitan Suns. The Sword of Light was a gaming stable, but Oracle knew that it was also where the samurai bodyguards of House Kurita were trained. 

The _Cyclops_ moved towards the center of the arena. The combat area set up was pure gladiator. No terrain or obstacles, just an open pit where two 'mechs would slug it out. It was really a waste, but all entertainment was a waste when you thought about it. 

The two machines stopped to face each other as the clear blast shield raised up to protect the crowd. It wouldn't stop concentrated fire, but MechWarriors weren't supposed to fire at the crowds either. When the shield was finally in place, it cut the sound off from where the 'mechs stood.

"I am Matches Malone, warrior of the Lazarus Pit, and I challenge you to honorable combat for the respect of our peers," Bruce called out over his loudspeaker. 

There was some slight hesitation, but then the _Cyclops_ seemed to bow slightly. "I am Reginald Harikasawa, unworthy warrior in the service of the Dragon that is Takashi Kurita. In the name of my master, I accept your challenge in the hopes of bringing honor to him and him alone."

Bruce frowned. A warrior should never fight for someone else's honor. "I look forward to matching your skill to mine."

"I will write a poem of your death," was the response.

The _Cyclops _brought up both arms and crimson lances of light bored into the _Batman_. One struck the left shoulder, melting armor like butter and causing to run like blood. The second strike hit just below the cockpit and the heat immediately spiked around Bruce's command chair. His cooling vest kicked in, trying to keep him from passing out as he backed his _Batman_ up to get some distance.

To provide some covering fire, Bruce switched to his flamer, sending a streak of flame out like an orange/red tongue. The _Cyclops _shrugged off the attack, but Bruce could imagine the Swordsman cursing the heat build-up. Switching to his SRM-2 launcher with Inferno rounds, Bruce decided to turn up the heat.

The _Batman_ increased it's backward pace, and the _Cyclops_ began to follow suit as well, trying to increase the distance between them. The missiles did not find their target, but instead exploded in the ground that the other 'mech had been occupying. Flames roared up, momentarily blocking the _Cyclops_ from Bruce's view.

Four missile contrails spiraled towards Bruce and he moved his machine to the left to avoid the projectiles and walked into a line of fire from an AC20 autocannon. The _Batman_ rocked as the right arm was thrown back and around. Bruce fought for control as his 'mech stumbled under the attack. Alarms were going off, a chorus of doom and destruction, and he saw that his own autocannon was off-line. The depleted uranium tipped rounds has mangled his arm, and all because he had not taken the time to evaluate the danger being posed to him. Four SRM's were nothing compared to an autocannon burst.

The crowds were on there feet, many waving flags with dragons on them and Bruce imagined that odds on him winning were going up in all of the gambling houses. That was good, because it meant when he won, Ra's Al Ghul would rake it in big.

Bruce finally gained control and steadied his 'mech. The _Batman's_ tracking system locked onto the _Cyclops_, which was making an attempt to flank Bruce. The range was enough for his LRM-15 launcher, but his PPC would work just fine. As soon as his HUD target went yellow, he pulled the trigger. Blue-white death raced across the distance between the 'mechs and struck the _Cyclops_ in the torso. Bruce watched in satisfaction as slagged armor fell from the other 'mech, glowing a bright orange.

He wiggled his eyebrows, an odd habit that he didn't know quite where he had picked it up, and he switched to his large laser. Taking aim, he fired into the still smoldering wound that his PPC had left. Green heat sink coolant flashed into steam and rose in an ugly cloud. Bruce had hoped to strike the gyro, but he would take the damage he had caused.

The _Cyclops_ pilot had to be roasting and a warm pilot was an angry one, Bruce knew this. Another autocannon burst tracked through the ground towards the _Batman_, sending up geysers of dirt and mud. The last two rounds burst the armor plating on the _Batman's_ knee. The armor diagram on his control panel showed that the armor was weakened significantly and Bruce wondered if it was just a matter of design that his 'mech had bad legs.

The light turned green on his ready board and Bruce fired the large laser again, noting that his heat was getting out of control. The laser hit just above his last strike, opening a large hole in the torso of the _Cyclops_. Immediately, Bruce started moving in the opposite direction so he could take the time out to drop his heat level. 

There was a noticeable limp in the way he moved and he knew that the Swordsman would notice it. Bruce had to turn to give his opponent a more armored target. The _Cyclops_ took advantage of the profile Bruce offered and fired its twin medium lasers.

Bruce heard armor plating as it heated and warped and finally popped off, some even reverting to its liquid state, but the actual damage was minimal. He was surprised that the Sword of Light BattleMech had not fired its autocannon. He reached over and called up a schematic of a _Cyclops _of that particular model. His suspicions were confirmed when he looked at where the autocannon and its ammunition were placed in the 'mech. "Probably slagged the ammunition feeds," he said to himself. That meant no more autocannon rounds were going to be coming his way. That even up the playing field a bit. 

When more laser strikes began ravaging his torso armor, Bruce countered with his own. For several minutes, the two 'mechs circled each other, the _Cyclops_ beginning to close the gap between them. Bruce cursed his limping leg and wanted to use his jump jets to get some distance, only they were off-line. Because of the dome, jumping was prohibited. 

The _Cyclops_ was getting too close and his aim was getting better and better as Bruce noted the ever-changing display for armor integrity. He dared not turn around because that would offer his opponent his backside, where the armor was weakest.

A heat sink died in his leg and Bruce wished awful things on the head of the other pilot. The heat was infuriating and it was making his skin itch. He brought his 'mech to a halt and slowly started in the direction of the _Cyclops_. The Thanagarian 'mech released a salvo of four SRM's. This time, Bruce did not try to avoid them but instead walked into their path. Two found his left arm and two raced past him.

The crowd was now roaring, seeing Bruce going to meet his foe. He imagined that Plas was screaming for him to keep his distance, but Bruce knew better. Here he should apply the opposite strategy than he did in his first battle in the _Firestorm_. The _Batman_ was not a long-range 'mech, it was a true scrapper. His father had designed it to brutalize other assault 'mechs if necessary.

For a moment, in the heat of battle, he had tried to fall into cadet mode, fighting the battle in accordance with published doctrine. Shiva had taught him differently and only in his ire did he start to fall back into his warrior mode. A warrior did not seek distance from battle, instead he rushed into it. The warrior desired nothing more than to test his mettle against that of a worthy opponent. 

This _Cyclops_ pilot was worthy; he possessed great skill in the way he took out Bruce's primary weapon at the beginning of the match. This was a warrior who craved battle as well. Not a battle to kill, but a battle to achieve victory. When two warriors clashed, it was not personal, it was simply machine and skill being matched to see who was better. The space between the two machines became smaller and Bruce let loose with both his PPC and SRM's. He couldn't have asked for a better hit as the _Cyclops_ stumbled back under the assault. 

The armor just under the cockpit was glowing red and Bruce saw the telltale slumping of the shoulders of the enemy 'mech. With the loss of the heat sink and Bruce savage strike, the 'mech had shutdown. His enemy was defenseless.

Bruce brought his 'mech to a halt several meters from his enemy and waited. Many members of the crowd hissed and cursed him, but he refused to be budged. He would not strike a defenseless enemy. If his opponent wished to surrender, then Bruce would accept it and allow his worthy adversary to retain his honor. If he chose to fight once his 'mech started up, then so be it.

After several minutes, the _Cyclops_ began to move again, but sluggishly. Bruce suspected that the gyro had been damaged and that the pilot was having a hard time maintaining balance. Again the medium lasers reached out to touch Bruce and he was surprised that another heat sink had been penetrated. His heat was too high now and Bruce immediately slapped the override switch for the shutdown. It was a gamble, but if it paid off, he wouldn't generate very much heat with his next attack.

Moving forward, slowly because the myomer muscle was being taxed by the high temperatures being generated in the giant war machine, Bruce brought his _Batman_ within physical attack range. Pulling his good arm back, he punched into the crated his weapons had left in the torso of the _Cyclops_.

Through the arm and into the cockpit, he could feel the vibrations as his 'mech's fist destroyed the gyro of the _Cyclops_. Pulling, back he saw the other 'mech start to wobble and then it fired another salvo of SRM's. They all hit and the cockpit glass of the _Batman_ shattered from a glancing impact. The moist air of the arena flooded the cockpit and Bruce knew that any other attacks would mean his death. 

Stepping back another step as the _Cyclops_ started to rock forward, Bruce spun his 'mech around, bringing his good arm up. The spinning punch he landed bashed in the side of the _Cyclops's_ head and sent it falling ever more quickly. The crowd went wild with the move, the first of its kind one of the announcers was shouting. The _Cyclops_ hit with a thunderous noise that was drowned out by the screaming of the fans. Bruce had no idea his move was so innovative; he had only wanted to knock the other 'mech out of the way so it couldn't shoot again. 

A voice came in over his receiver. "Holy freakin' Hannah, Matches; what the hell was that?" Plas screamed. There was absolute joy in his voice. "Nobody does that kind of thing with an assault 'mech, especially in a match! Hell yeah! Give the people what they want!"

Bruce heard the crowds as they began to chant the name of Matches Malone. He had instantly become a hero to them, an icon of the arena. He felt warm with pride as he shut down his _Batman_ and removed the neurohelmet. Kicking out a large section of cockpit glass that had refused to fall out, he stuck his head out and then waved. The spectators went into a frenzy of cheers.

Bruce beamed in the glory. That is what the warrior craved, the admiration of the people and his peers. Though he kept smiling, he did begin to wonder if the other 'mec pilots were as impressed.

"Another round, and keep 'em coming!" Plas bellowed to the bartender. Bruce readily accepted another cold Thanagarian ale, bitter and strong, but with twice the alcohol, nobody seemed to care. Several of the warriors from the Lazarus Pit were drinking to Bruce's success.

Warriors was a bar in the heart of the Thangarian Sector and frequented mostly by mercenaries. Because it had the best beer in Romanus, however, Plas had moved Bruce's victory celebration here. Several members of the Sword of Light stable had come by as well, offering Bruce a handshake and respectful bow for his victory. It seemed strange to him and he wondered what the Thanagarian warriors would think of they knew his real identity. No doubt they would all commit seppuku immediately.

The bartender and owner, an older man with a widow's peak of black hair, hurriedly served up the drinks and then went back to serving his regular customers. Some of the mercenaries even joined in the celebration and Bruce received two offers of employment. He had no desire to become a mercenary and even during the revelry surrounding his first win, he kept his mission in the forefront of his thoughts.

With his reputation established somewhat, he figured that now maybe the older warriors would talk to him and perhaps provide him with information regarding any top-notch assault 'mech pilots that had worked for Lew Moxon.

Bruce had considered going straight to Moxon, but figured it would not do any good. Though he was a coward, he was a smart one and if anyone could figure out Bruce's secret, it would be him he supposed. Bruce felt a tap on his shoulder and he turned from the conversation he was having with a mercenary whose name he couldn't recall to see the bartender with an outstretched hand. Bruce took it. "That was some good piloting, kid," the bartender offered as a congratulations.

"Thanks…name's Matches Malone," Bruce said. Bartenders were always good sources of information.

"Chill, Joseph Chill, used to be a MechWarrior myself until I retired and bought this bar," the man offered. He had a warm smile, but Bruce noted that there seemed to be a permanent look of sadness to the man's eyes.

He was about to continue the conversation when he got another tap, a stronger one, on his shoulder again. Bruce held a finger up indicating to wait a moment and he turned again. A man of strong Asian features in a white and black jumpsuit stood in front of him. On his chest was the famous "L" patch of the Legion.

Val moved his head slightly, making his neck pop. "You. You believe you are a warrior. I say you are not."

"Who cares what the hell you think, merc?" Bruce replied, trying to match Val's sneer.

"Perhaps we should discuss this outside?" Val said, indicating the door with a sweep of his hand.

All of the conversations stopped as if someone had turned off a switch. Bruce downed his beer and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "After you, little girl."  


	10. Chapter 9

DC Heroes: MechWarrior I

By: Christopher W. Blaine

e-mail: darth_yoshi@yahoo.com

DISCLAIMER: All characters and situations contained in this story are ©2002 by either DC Comics Inc. or WhizKids and are used without permission for fan-related entertainment purposes only. No profit is made from this story. This original story is ©2002 by Christopher W. Blaine and may not be reproduced either in part or as a whole without the express permission of the author.

Chapter 9 Romanus (Thanagarian Sector) Solaris Gotham Commonwealth January 23, 3032 

Val stepped out from the assembled Legionnaires. "You fight well in the arena, Matches," he began, refusing to acknowledge the man's surname. "Too well for someone of the wrong pedigree."

Bruce shrugged and popped a wooden match into his mouth. He smirked as he realized that his façade was now perfect. He was now considered the exact opposite of the Archon-Prince that he actually was. "Says the 'mech whore, selling your services to whoever drives up in a hovercar."

Val was barely able to contain his anger and Plas leaned in to whisper into Bruce's ear. "You can't be that drunk; do you know who that is?"

Bruce nodded. "Yep, a jerk looking for a fight." He didn't bother looking back at Plas's shocked look. He had expected to run into someone wanting to pump up their rep by taking on the current Solaris hero. He didn't expect it to be a mercenary, though, especially here. Mercenaries were welcome in that they often times spent generous amounts of G-bills as they sought out potential recruits. It was the House militaries that were the problem, since they didn't spend any money and didn't look for possible enlistments. Any time that a House unit was on the planet, it only meant trouble.

Val took another step forward and Bruce noted the men and women behind the Legionnaire were forming a semi-circle around their teammate. It reminded Bruce of the so-called "Circle of Equals" that Shiva had made the trainees get in when there was a dispute. The object of the Circle was simple; two persons who disagreed would fight until one was down or crossed the perimeter. To the victor went the decision. "I assure you, you filth-ridden dog, that I am no 'jerk'. I am a true warrior, unlike you who pretends to be one."

Bruce was ready to swing at Val when the sound of a shotgun being fired startled everyone. All movement stopped except for someone forcing their way through Bruce's camp of supporters. "All right! That's enough! You Legion pukes can get the hell out of here!" Joe bellowed.

Val was about to say something when one of the other Legion members put a hand on his shoulder and shook her head. Val nodded and then the Legionnaires departed without another word. Joe turned to the gladiators. "You bastards want to party, the party is inside. If you want to fight, you take it somewhere else."

Nobody said anything, but instead filed back quietly into the bar. Bruce was about to go in when Joe held out a hand to stop him. "Let me have a second, kid," he said.

Bruce shrugged and played with the match in his mouth with one hand and adjusted his trademark sunglasses with the other. He was only slightly annoyed that the fight had been broken up as he was sure he could have taken out the rude Legionnaire with the training Shiva had given him. It would have been another victory for the day. "You got a second, pops."

Joe shook his head. "Cocky bastard aren't you? Listen, maybe you have a right to be, but that don't mean you go getting into fights with professional mercs."

"I could have taken him," Bruce replied.

"I doubt it; that was Major Val of the Legion. He's won the Inner Sphere martial arts tournament four years in a row. I don't give a crap how well you pilot a 'mech, he'll rip you a new one and put it in your hand." Joe shook his head. "You remind me of myself a long time ago."

"Yeah, well, that was then and this is now. I'm sure you were a contender…"

Joe started laughing. "Kid, you really need to learn your history. I was the contender. Hell, ten years ago, I was the man in the heavy 'mech class. Decided to retire before I got killed, you know?"

Bruce found that interesting. It was possible that Joe would know who the real cutthroats and shady types would have been at the time. He might even know about Moxon's crew. "I'd like to hear more," Bruce said, throwing down the match.

Joe put his arm around Bruce's shoulder. "Come on in, kid, and I'll tell you all about the way it used to be."

"Hey, Plas?" Bruce called from the cockpit of the beaten _Batman_.

Plas stuck his head out from the leg with the blown heat sink, his normally pink skin tinted green with coolant. "Yeah?"

"You know anything about Joe Chill? I mean, is on the level with all of those stories he told last night?" Bruce finished his inspection of the new cockpit glass that had been put in earlier that morning and climbed out onto the rope ladder.  He climbed down to the lift that Plas had used to get up to the damage.

Plas nodded. "Used be known simply as 'The Chill'. Hell of a fighter. I took him on twice and he handed me my ass both times. Started out in the Injustice Gang I believe."

Bruce indicated he didn't know what Plas was talking about. The technician shook his head and adjusted his glasses. "Mean bunch of fighters out of the Metropolitan Suns. They took the name because it had more crowd appeal. Chill was the only one with any talent and he got picked up Moxon's Mayhem when the Gang broke up."

That confirmed what Bruce had learned. The kindly bartender had admitted to as much and had even named several of the fighters at the time that had been piloting assault class 'mechs for Moxon. When Bruce had posed the question as to what kind of 'mechs, Chill just shrugged and took a sip of his beer. There had simply been too many 'mechs in and out to keep track of. "You ever heard of a _Bane_?"

Plas picked up a greasy wrench and started cleaning it, looking down at it in concentration. "Seems I do remember one. Big-ass assault 'mech. I don't remember who designed it, but I'm pretty sure Moxon had one for awhile." 

Bruce was about to ask what had happened to it when he heard someone calling from the 'mech bay floor. "Malone!"

Looking over the railing, Bruce saw a man in a black, red and blue jumpsuit with the Legion patch. The man looked oddly familiar, but Bruce couldn't quite place him. "Yeah?"

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" Monel asked.

Plas leaned over. "That's Colonel Monel Bloodspirit, commanding officer of the Legion."

"Yippee," Bruce replied as he climbed down to meet the mercenary. When he got down and straightened up, he faced a man of similar height and weight with almost too-perfect features. From the distance, he looked to be in his mid-thirties, but up close and personal, Bruce noted the lines around the eyes. "Yeah?" he asked.

Monel held out his hand and introduced himself. Bruce took it and winced inwardly at the firmness of the grip. "I would like to apologize for the actions of my junior officer last night."

Bruce shrugged. "Nothing happened except the trading of some insults, no big deal. I won't hold a grudge if you don't."

Something about the way Bruce said what he said made Monel blink and he realized that Shiva had acted the same way whenever Bruce had used contractions. "I have to say, that fight yesterday was impressive if not seemingly impossible. I've never seen someone employ martial arts moves in a 'mech fight."

"Well, I guess now you have."

"You are quite skilled, _quiaff_"

"Aff," Bruce said automatically. He saw a small smile creep onto Monel's face. 

"Mr. Malone, if that is your real name, it is apparent that you have received some, how should we say, special training in the ways of combat." Monel folded his arms over his chest and rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. "I would like to know where you received this training."

Bruce replied with a comment about what Monel could do to parts of Bruce's anatomy. "I don't have to answer to you. I'm not in your Legion, so your position doesn't add up to jack to me…Jack! If you have a question, go see my boss, Ra's Al Ghul." 

Monel nodded. "If that is the way you want to play it Mr. Malone, then so be it. However, you need to be made aware that the Legion has taken a special interest in you. Most in the Inner Sphere would not consider that advantageous."

Bruce shrugged. "Most people in the Inner Sphere are too dumb to realize that you guys are a lot of talk and no action. If you want a piece of me, go for it; if not, get the hell out of my way."

Monel smiled. He admired the spirit of the younger man; it reminded him of so many other proud warriors he had known throughout his career. He was positive Matches Malone had been trained in Clan fighting techniques which wasn't particularly disturbing in an of itself. He doubted that even Clan-trained Inner Sphere warriors would be able to stand up to the might of the Clans if and when they invaded.

It wasn't exactly fear of a Great House being toppled that bothered Monel, either, though he had to admit that Jaime Wolf had a right to be concerned about something like that. What if House Davion managed to gain control of the Metropolitan Suns, wrestle the so-called empire of Alexi Luthor into their own grasp? Would they seek out an alliance, perhaps with House Steiner in the Gotham Commonwealth. If House Wayne were toppled, Melissa Steiner was the logical choice to be the next Archon. 

The Metropolitan Suns and Gotham Commonwealth were very close in both government and culture and Monel could see a formal alliance between the two. With their combined forces, they could eliminate the other houses. It was only House Luthor's contempt for the other leaders and houses that kept such a thing from happening. Luthors did not make alliances; they simply ruled was the saying.

No, what greatly concerned leader of the Legion was that it was possible the Inner Sphere could learn of the existence of the Clans prior to the invasion and Kent's great dream of reuniting the Inner Sphere under he banner of the Justice League would be quashed before it even got started. As it stood, the Exodus Fleet was nothing more than a fairy tale to the Inner Sphere. Certainly there was always the chance that Kent's fleet survived was the common thinking, but most spheroids thought that possibility extremely remote.

Monel knew that besides evaluating the Inner Sphere militaries, his duty was also to maintain the secrecy of the existence of the Clans. If Matches Malone knew, then Matches Malone would have to die. Jaime Wolf would disagree, but he expected that from the freebirth warrior. Wolf had too many sympathies for the Inner Sphere and Monel was secretly unsure of exactly where Wolf's Dragoon's loyalties lay. He was sure of his own; he was a trueborn warrior of Clan Blood Spirit and he would carry out his mission.

He had been courteous enough to give Malone a chance to come clean, but in the spirit of a true warrior, Malone refused to be budged. Monel did not hold his contempt of freeborns in the same light as Val; Monel pitied them for their defective genetic structure, but he would not allow that pity to sway him. 

Saying good-bye to Malone, Monel turned and walked calmly out of the 'mech bay and out into the open air. The sun was high and the streets were crowded, yet people made way for him when they say the Legion patch on his jumpsuit. Even the street criminals avoided eye contact with him and he took that as a good sign. The Legion's reputation as a fighting unit was secure and that meant his mission was going according to plan.

He stepped out into the road, heading back to the DropShip where he would have to decide on what to do about Matches Malone.

Ra's Al Ghul studied the figure walking away from the building he owned, the high-definition camera recording every physical aspect it could. The computer in the next room ran the analysis, based upon the parameters he had instructed Talia to set forth in the program and waited for the results.

A few lines of text scrolled across the data screen next to him. Talia looked down and read them and nodded. "There is a ninety percent chance he is of the same genetic line as Jonathan Kent. That fact, along with his unit's fighting prowess and unusual BattleMech compliment of the Legion…"

Ra's held up a hand. "Yes, yes; I can see the resemblance. He looks so much like Clark Kent, Jonathan's son. I just could not believe that the Blood Spirits would have managed to have someone of that bloodline in their Clan. He must be _isorla_, the spoils of war."

"If he is talking to Matches, then he must have guessed the training he has received." Ra's noted that Talia had seemed to take a particular interest in the newest star of the Lazarus Pit. He was unsure of how he felt about that and reminded himself to talk to her about it at length at a later time.

"Perhaps, or perhaps he merely suspects. Either way, I need to secure some way of keeping the Legion out of our affairs." Ra's turned in his chair to face his daughter. "I had hoped to keep them and the Dragoons guessing for a while longer."

"The Dragoons lifted off this morning; apparently there was a fight between them and several members of the Sword of Light Regiment." Talia consulted her handheld data pad. "The Dragoons won the battle, but lost the war. Takashi Kurita pulled some strings with the government and had them ejected for six months."

"That, at least, is some good news. The Dragoons are much larger than the Legion and have a better intelligence network." He rubbed his beard and bit softly on his lower lip. He considered every angle and possibility with cool and calm methodology. The Legion could not be taken down in a straight up fight; Ra's did not have the forces on Solaris to do so and even if he tried, the Solaris security teams would be an added problem. He could try to blow up their DropShip, but that was far too risky. If his people were caught and implicated him, it would mean exposure.

No, he thought, I can't just kill them. Then he had another idea. "A challenge," he said softly.

"You will challenge Monel to a duel?" Talia asked.

Ra's shook his head. "Not just him; if I were to defeat him in combat, and to be honest, he is a better MechWarrior than I am and I would say the chances of that are slim, his Legion would be outraged and may not abide the terms of the challenge. No, it has to be a group effort, star to star you might say. Five of his warriors against five of mine, the winner gets the spoils. If I win, he must remain silent about what he knows, even to his Clan masters. If I lose, well, I'm sure we both know the consequences."

Talia nodded. "I understand, father. I will have a message sent to Colonel Bloodspirit to contact you regarding the _batchall_, the ritual challenge."

Two hours later, Ra's stood staring at the visage of Monel Bloodspirit. "I am Ra's Al Ghul, a warrior descended from Clan Wolverine. What forces do you bid in the defense of your silent tongue against my star of BattleMechs?"

Rage, pure and unadulterated, passed through Monel's eyes. Clan Wolverine was the Not-Named-Clan, having been thought destroyed after a Trial of Annihilation. Their crime had been taking arms against Nicholas Kerensky, rejecting his right to rule as ilKhan, or supreme khan, of all twenty Clans he had created with Clark Kent's help. That had occurred nearly three centuries before and all vestiges of that Clan had been wiped out. Their name was not to be spoken in Clan society. "How dare you invoke the _batchall_! You have no honor! You are beneath me and I do not have to accept your challenge, dog!"

Ra's saw the face of Major Val, one of the more vociferous Legion members pop in behind Monel. His eyes were wide as he had never heard such anger in his commanding officer's voice. Monel was from Clan Wolf, the clan that both Kerensky and Kent had led. Though his name was Bloodspirit now, Ra's represented something that went beyond simple Clan honor. To Monel, Ra's was evil incarnate. "So, I see that three centuries of isolation have made the children of Kent and Kerensky weak and fearful. That is how it should be. First you run from the Inner Sphere and now you run from me."

"I will show you what fear is, little freebirth…"

Ra's leaned in closer to the viewscreen. "Do not confuse me with some commoner that has leapt from the womb of an Inner Sphere whore. I am Ra's Al Ghul, a descendent of that warriors of the Justice League. While I may not have been cooked up in a laboratory, I assure you my lineage is a Clan as yours."

"To hell with you! I will bring the full might of the Legion against you and will see your bloodstained carcass in the palm of my _Legionnaire_!" Monel's face was turning beet red and Ra's noted a feminine hand come to lay on his shoulder. He shrugged it off without looking back.

"If you do that, Colonel, then you will invoke the wraith of not only the government of Solaris, but quite possibly that of the Gotham Commonwealth. What will happen then when the might of one of the Great Houses comes down upon you? House Wayne will be most interested in learning about our brethren so many light-years away." A large smile crept over Ra's face. "So, do not respect my _batchall_, I care not. I will lose something if you inform your masters about me, it will ruin whatever plans I have. But you, sir, will have ruined the Clan's opportunity to bring about the resurrection of the Justice League."

Monel looked as if he wanted to speak, but did not. He turned his head and conferred, Ra's supposed, with the female at his side. No doubt Major Val was somewhere close adding his opinion. Finally, Monel turned back. "I will agree to your challenge, but I must add some conditions. First, if we win, you will turn over the warrior Shiva, whom you have no doubt taken as your bondsman."

Ra's smiled. "Agreed, but if I win, besides your silence I want your guarantee that the Legion will never interfere with my operations so long as they are operating in the Inner Sphere."

"I cannot agree to that without knowing what your operations are," Monel replied. "It would be a bad faith agreement."

"Very well; then I propose that the Legion, whom I know is looking for a new employer, seek out any other Great House besides House Wayne."

Monel nodded. "Bargained well and done, freebirth. I will send you the codexes of my star that will be facing yours. I expect you will do the same."

"Agreed. In one week, we shall relive the Trial of Annihilation against my people, seed of Kent, only this time you might find the outcome a little different."


	11. Chapter 10

DC Heroes: MechWarrior I

By: Christopher W. Blaine

e-mail: darth_yoshi@yahoo.com

DISCLAIMER: All characters and situations contained in this story are ©2002 by either DC Comics Inc. or WhizKids and are used without permission for fan-related entertainment purposes only. No profit is made from this story. This original story is ©2002 by Christopher W. Blaine and may not be reproduced either in part or as a whole without the express permission of the author.

Chapter 10 Kord Industries, West End New Gotham Gotham Commonwealth January 23, 3032 

Ted Kord settled his face into a determined and grim look as he listened to the Archon-General. It was rare for so high an official to come and grace a manufacturer with their presence, but Alfred Pennyworth was not a typical leader. The general was a hands-on administrator and Ted noted that the general had aged noticeably in the decade since he had taken the reigns of leadership.

Alfred noted the seriousness of Ted's stare and smiled, trying to relieve some of the tension. He understood that even super-rich industrialists could be made antsy by his presence. "So you see, Mr. Kord, any aid you could provide in this matter would be most beneficial."

Nodding, Ted walked past the two burly Oracle agents and moved to the terminal at his desk. Typing in a few commands, he waited until the results were displayed before speaking. Not satisfied, he glanced over his shoulder to ensure that none of his guests were looking and then typed in several other commands that brought up an entirely different screen. He wondered how Oracle was able to find out about his considerable hacking skills; skills that were not technically legal to employ.

He was not happy with the information he found. "It is true that I do try to hire former Oracle agents to work in my security force and many of my other employees end up getting jobs with the agency. I have always strived to have top-notch protection. As you know, WayneTech is my biggest competitor in the Commonwealth," he said with slight irony. WayneTech was a corporation owned exclusively by the royal family and was always awarded the most lucrative military contracts. "Any advantage I can get I have to guard jealously…you do understand?"

Alfred bowed his head and maintained his pleasant smile. "Indeed, and let me assure you that the reputation of your company is well-known and appreciated."

"I hope you remember that the next time we put in a bid to develop a new BattleMech, sir," Ted said with a wry grin. Kord Industries was mainly a weapons developer and had made great strides in improving what was currently available to the various militaries of the Inner Sphere. Much of the technology of the era of the Justice League had been lost during the Succession Wars and it was now a race to see who could reclaim what. GreenStar was rumored to have the technical specifications of many League weapons, but they weren't sharing. 

What Ted really wanted, though, was to put one of his new BattleMech designs into production, but nobody was buying right now. "Yes, we did hire Mr. Napier about a year ago. And we hired all of the other gentlemen you indicated in your list at one time or another over the past decade, right after I started the company."

"Did you hire them personally?" Alfred asked.

"No, my Vice-President of Resources did, Maxwell Lord," Ted answered. Though he wasn't fully aware of why he was being asked to dig into his employee records, Ted knew that when the Archon-General presented you with a list of names, it didn't mean anything good. "Should I be made aware of something here?"

"Jack Napier was identified as a spy within Oracle; unfortunately, he resigned before we had that information and we've had to track him down," Jim Gordon said from the opposite corner of the room. He stood in the shadows and all Ted could see of the major was the lit end of his cigarette. "Bastard jumped into a vat of chemical to escape us, but we managed to get the rest of his gang. They called themselves the Red Hood. Damn Independents!"

Ted nodded and searched his memory. Independents were individuals who felt that the Great Houses had no right to lord over the individual planets in giant so-called planetary empires. They demanded that each world should be granted self-rule. This Red Hood organization was probably involved in some sort of scheme to dethrone the Archon-General.

Or worse, Ted suddenly thought as he remembered the murder of Thomas and Martha Wayne. "I didn't know…I swear…"

Alfred held up a hand. "We know, Mr. Kord; believe me when I say you are not the only one here who has had the wool pulled over their eyes. Oracle is going through some…changes; changes initiated by myself and Major Gordon. It was during these changes we discovered the Red Hood plot. We tracked Napier's employment to here and then discovered that several of his confederates were likewise employed here. As stated, Mr. Napier was only the latest in a long series of spies rotated in and out of Oracle."

Ted turned ashen. If an agency like Oracle had been infiltrated so easily, he began to wonder about the secrecy of his own projects. Someone of vast resources and extremely large testicles was stirring up a pot of trouble for both the government and private industry. He tried to remember the access frequency for his lawyer, but was too shaken. How many of his 'mech designs were now on the black market? What about the new weapons systems? The increased range lasers he had been working so hard on. Worse, what did the government think about him now? "Forgive me for asking, sir, but how can you be so sure of my loyalty? Not that I'm saying I'm not…"

As if on cue, there was a knock at the door and one of the Oracle agents opened it. A blond-haired handsome man stepped wearing a business suit cut in the latest style. "Mike, not right now," Ted said quickly.

Mike smiled and inclined his head to the Archon-General. "I've been invited, Ted," he replied. Ted's stomach began to quiver just a little bit more.

As the door closed and Mike entered the office proper, Jim began to explain. "You know him as Michael Carter, your number one weapons tester, but he's actually a special agent with Oracle, assigned to gauge your loyalty to the Commonwealth." The room became deathly quiet.

Ted had to remember to close his jaw. He and Mike had become the best of friends over the last year and now he had to wonder if that was even true. Then he considered that his government was using shadow tactics to spy in its citizens. "I'm not too sure I'm happy about this."

"We had to do it, Ted," Mike began, holding his hands out in front of him. "We discovered that most of WayneTech's upper management was corrupt as well. Kord Industries is the only other manufacturer in the Commonwealth that has a fully developed weapons program."

"You've lost me," Ted said. He was caught between fear of losing everything, outrage at having his civil liberties violated and profound sadness as he realized he may not have a best friend after all.

"Mr. Kord, there has been an insidious plot to bring down the government of the Gotham Commonwealth," Alfred said as he brushed something off of his sleeve. "It caused the murder of both Thomas and Martha Wayne, as well as that of John and Mary Grayson." He let that sink in. The "Flying Graysons" were famous in the Commonwealth and now Ted had to consider that he hadn't heard of them for several months. He merely assumed they were on maneuvers or doing something important. Why hadn't theur deaths been reported in the news? Surely they were deserving of a proper state funeral.

"The Archon-Prince is in hiding, Oracle has been infiltrated and we cannot rely on the BattleMechs currently being produced from our major manufacturers. Not to mention, it appears that your company has been used to filter terrorists on and off of the planet through Mr. Lord." Alfred did his best to remain calm, but as he spoke the words, laid out the cancer that was eating away at his adopted home, he became angrier. He had lost most of the people whom he considered family and he was forced to begin doing things that he loathed, such as spying on fellow citizens. It was such policies that gave credence to the rantings of the Independents who said the Commonwealth was nothing more than mirror-image of the Thanagarian Combine.

"You do have a private contract with GreenStar, don't you?" Jim asked Ted.

"Sure, cost me a wad but it gives me double the privacy of my competitors who use the Commonwealth's channels," Ted replied with a wave of his hand. A light seemed to come on in his head and he turned and accessed several more functions on his terminal. All of the functions, of course, were illegal, even for Oracle because they violated the GreenStar contract. If it were discovered that Ted was doing what he was doing, GreenStar could possibly interdict the entire Commonwealth as punishment, making communications between worlds and more importantly the military force impossible. 

Mike winked at Alfred. "I told you he was good."

"Indeed," Alfred said with a smile. Ted Kord was going to be a very useful ally.

Ted sat back. "I don't get it; he has all kinds of communications between here and Solaris."

Jim stepped out of the shadows. "Solaris? Damn!" He nodded to the two Oracle agents. "Go get Maxwell Lord and put him under arrest. Carter, you show them where to go." Mike didn't hesitate and the three men were out the door immediately. Ted got up and went to close the door.

"I take it Solaris is not a good sign?" he asked.

Alfred rubbed his face wishing for a stiff drink. "You are quite correct, Mr. Kord, Solaris is not good." Alfred turned to Jim. "Pull him in."

Jim nodded and pulled out a personal communicator. He stepped into the rear of the office and way from prying ears as he spoke. From his gesturing, Ted could only guess what was going on. "Pull who in?"

Alfred smiled. "A matter of national security I'm afraid you are not cleared for, Mr. Kord. Mr. Maxwell shall be taking an extended leave of absence so I strongly recommend hiring a replacement as soon as possible." He handed over a card. "This gentleman is a personal friend of mine and not a member of Oracle, I assure you," Alfred remarked to the rise in Ted's eyebrows.

Jim joined Alfred and the two moved for the door. "Mr. Kord, please send me all of the documents pertaining to your _Dark Knight_ project, I would be most interested in looking at the specifications."

When they were gone, Ted smiled to himself. By just being honest and doing a good job, he had landed a coveted position…the ear of the Archon-General. If he was asking about the _Dark Knight_, that meant Mike had been touting to all of his superiors how great the proposed assault-class BattleMech would be. 

It meant that Ted Kord was finally going to get to build 'mechs for a living.

He plopped down in his chair and began pulling up other projects he had been working on over the years. BattleMechs, main battle tanks, hover vehicles and even battle armor like they wore during the days of the Justice League. His main competition was falling apart and Ted Kord couldn't be happier.

As he opened up a design marked _Blue Beetle_, he began to dream of designs yet to come.


	12. Chapter 11

DC Heroes: MechWarrior I

By: Christopher W. Blaine

e-mail: darth_yoshi@yahoo.com

DISCLAIMER: All characters and situations contained in this story are ©2002 by either DC Comics Inc. or WhizKids and are used without permission for fan-related entertainment purposes only. No profit is made from this story. This original story is ©2002 by Christopher W. Blaine and may not be reproduced either in part or as a whole without the express permission of the author.

Chapter 11 Romanus (Thanagarian Sector) Solaris Gotham Commonwealth January 24, 3032 

Monel looked at the assembled MechWarriors and licked his dry lips. Ever since his confrontation with Ra's Al Ghul the day before, his people had taken great pains to not get in his way. He was appreciative of the gesture, but now was not the time for politeness. They had heard the name of Clan Wolverine and some of the younger members wanted to know what it was about.

Clan Wolverine had committed the ultimate sin of arrogance before the ilKhan, and for that they had been exterminated. Hunted down by the other 19 of the 20 Clans originally formed, they were eradicated from Clan Space and from reality itself. Or so it had been believed and Monel, despite his revulsion, could not help but admire the tenacity of the Clan. Like their totem animal, they were scrappers who had found a way to survive.

What Ra's position within the Clan was, Monel could not even fathom. The fact that he was involved with the gaming world and probably many other immoral things made him believe that the man was a cast-away. The man was a confessed freebirth who carried a surname that was not one of the original 800 bloodnames.

Monel explained all of this and more to his warriors, fully one quarter of the full complement of 'mech pilots in the Legion. The rest were where Monel should be going now, he thought, where they had been contracted to work. Coming here had been foolish and accepting the challenge had been even more so. There was no need to honor it; members of Clan Wolverine were not considered true warriors and if Ra's was removed from them, he was even worth wasting the time on.

Yet, by the looks in the eyes of his warriors, Monel knew that this challenge could not go unheeded. His people were all washouts, young men and women who had failed out of warrior training right at the end. No matter what they did here in the Inner Sphere, once they returned home, they would be relegated to another caste where they would grow old and die. 

There was very little true glory to gain by being part of the Legion, but it allowed each and every one of them the chance to at least pilot a 'mech and perhaps give their lives in the service of their Clan. If they could, however, take down a rogue escapee from the Not-Named-Clan, then there was no doubt that their names would be written into the _Remembrance_, an epic poem kept by each Clan that detailed the exploits of its greatest warriors. That was the greatest honor they could ever hope for.

Val, especially, wanted to be included. He had been the one who called for their 'mechs to be delivered immediately to the planet from the Legion WarShip in high orbit. The Legion was the only known mercenary group to possess such a vessel. It had been named by Monel in jest as the _Clubhouse_. "Our 'mechs will be here in two days and it will take another day to clear them through security," Val announced proudly.

Monel nodded and reached for his glass of water. Many of the warriors were begging him with their eyes to be included in the challenge. Little did they know it was for naught because he and Val had already decided who would fight. 

"Captain Irma, Captain Garth and Commander Jenni will be going with Val and I to win this Trial. Do not consider it a stain on your abilities or my faith in you. I decided to go by rank," Monel said to the disappointed members.

Warrior Jo stood up, his muscles bulging under his jumpsuit. "I invoke a Trial of Refusal concerning your decision. I am as worthy as any other and demand the chance to prove it!"

Several others cheered in as well, demanding their own Trials. Monel silenced them with a cold stare. "Neg. There will be no Trials. We do not have the time for this. We have to be ready in six days and I have transfer all of the information regarding our side to the dog before we begin!"

"He has no honor!" Jo said, smacking a fist on the table. "Let us just go in and kill him! I will volunteer! Give me a knife, that is all I desire!"

"And what if you are caught, Jo of Clan Coyote? You are well-known as a member of the Legion and no doubt the stain of your assassination attempt would taint the Legion as a whole," Irma said softly. Her deep blue eyes and flowing blonde hair made her almost intoxicating to look at. As a member of Clan Nova Cat, she was given to interpreting dreams and omens and her voice always carried like a cool night breeze when she spoke. "Regardless of our personal feelings, we must abide by the laws of the Clans. We are not freebirth rabble like the Dragoons; we are the inheritors of Kent's dream and Kerensky's vision."

"My sibkin speaks true," Garth added, mindlessly drumming the fingers of his artificial arm on the table. It was a reminder of his failed Trial of Position when he was only a cadet. "We cannot and must not begin to bicker among ourselves."

Jo was not satisfied and he crossed his arms over his heaving chest. "Very easy for you to say, Garth; you have been chosen to engage the enemy."

"Enough!" Monel said in his most stern voice. "I have had it with your whining…all of you. Even when given a second chance by the Clans to prove your worth, you still mew like the sibko kittens you were when you failed your respective Trials. I am the only true warrior among all of us; your opinions do not matter in this. You will do as I say or you will go back to the homeworlds to serve out your miserable lives in another caste."

Monel did not even await either confirmation or apology. He had far too much on his mind to worry about hurt feelings and snotty-noses. He had to prepare for a battle that could mean either victory or defeat for the Clans when they came. Monel could see the writing on the walls, just as Jaime Wolf did. They had spent twenty-five years in the Inner Sphere, reporting on everything they could. The Clans had not called them back yet only because no single Clan was strong enough to call for and win a vote for the invasion.

Jonathan Kent and Alexandr Kerensky had left the Inner Sphere to allow it to fall in barbarism. It was the dream, and had been for three centuries, of every warrior of all of the surviving Clans to one day come back and proclaim proudly that their forefathers had been correct. Every khan desired to stand on Terra and demonstrate the superiority of their martial society to the savages that ran amuck in the Inner Sphere. 

It simply wasn't that way, though, and Monel knew it. Both the Legion and the Dragoons had come to the Inner Sphere expecting the Great Houses to be in shambles. After all, there had been three nearly consecutive Succession Wars which should blasted humanity back into the Stone Age. It very nearly had, but somewhere, the spark which made humans…human had kept the torch of civilization lit.

The Dragoons found the Inner Sphere to be a place of wonderment, where the circumstances of your birth had nothing to do with, for the most part, how far you could go with your dreams. Monel saw this as wasteful and while he had no desire to crush the people of the Inner Sphere, their wasteful ways embarrassed him. Could his genetic line really have descended from some of the people he had encountered?

He strongly suspected that when the time came and the call was put out for both groups to return to the Clan worlds that Wolf's Dragoons would not answer. They were freebirths after all and this was someplace where their lives had meaning. He understood it, but at the same time, could not reason why anyone looked forward to growing old and ending up in some home, drooling and defecating all over themselves. 

Now he had another problem, an old thorn in the backside of the Clans' honor. If he lost this challenge he had so hastily accepted, then what? He had no idea who Ra's Al Ghul was, only that he had to kill him. No quarter, no mercy; the particulars of the Trial of Annihilation against the Wolverines were still very much active. It was his duty as a Clan warrior to dispose of him and any who would ally with him. It superceded even the cause of the invasion but that did little to quench the thirst for blood he felt.

No doubt some of the participants on Ra's Al Ghul's side would be innocent pawns, unaware of the galaxy-shaking events they would be involved in. In that, he was saddened because nothing was more dishonorable than leading warriors into a battle for a false cause. Innocent blood would be spilled and there was noting to gain from that.

He stepped into his private cabin and moved immediately to the terminal. He considered calling Jaime Wolf and letting him know. If Monel failed…if his 'mech fell, he could be taken as Ra's bondsman. It wouldn't have been the first time he thought with a smile. His fingers hovered over the keyboard but would not go any further. If he violated his oath then he was giving credence to Ra's argument and to a further extent, that of his Clan. The Wolverines had accused Nicholas Kerensky of superceding the Clan's will for his own. If Monel sent a message to Jaime Wolf, would he not be doing the same thing?

 He cursed and prayed silently to whatever god it was that watched over the affairs of humanity to deliver him from this challenge. He needed to take a step back and think about what he was going to do. He had vital information for his Clan…for all of the Clans and his anger had gotten in the way. 

It was so uncharacteristic of the Kent bloodline, but Monel figured that he must have inherited it from his Kerensky half. He sat down in the chair next to the table and rubbed his temple. He needed a miracle.

At that very same moment in the GreenStar HPG compound, a message was delivered for Corpsman John Stewart. It appeared to be nothing more than the sort of message the adept manning the HPG station was used to seeing. For a man supposedly devoted to the Word of Scott he certainly had a lot of admirers.

The adept shrugged it off. Corpsman Stewart was at least devoted to his duties as a MechWarrior in the service of GreenStar; not like the mercenary types that made up the Darkstar regiments that GreenStar employed. The adept read the message out loud to himself as he walked it over to the small box that was reserved for the members of Corps.

"My dearest John, please get your friend and meet me for a quick getaway; love, Alice P." The adept sighed and dropped the message in the box. He noted that the point of origin was New Gotham with a Class A priority. Looking closer, he also noted that Guardian Ganthet had approved the transmission.

He scratched his head, wondering who this woman was that rated the attention of someone of Ganthet's level. The small, unassuming Gaurdian was known to be a contender to be the next Primus of the order. Not only well-connected as far as his position within GreenStar, but he was also politically influential. His posting within the Gotham Commonwealth was no accident; it was his kind of cool level-head attitude that had kept the problems between former Archon Thomas Wayne and GreenStar at a low simmer. 

Even though there had been no considerable changes since Thomas's death, the fact that there was open communication and that GreenStar was able to station its own forces (albeit only regular Green Lantern Corps, none of the mercenaries) within the Commonwealth only demonstrated Ganthet's political savvy.

This Alice woman must be someone important and the adept wondered if he had just stumbled upon some lurid scandal. His pulse quickened as he realized what a burden such knowledge would be and he put the thoughts out of his head quickly. He would concentrate on his duties and keep his mouth shut. He wanted no part of such things!

Dropping the message as if it were poisoned, the adept hurried back to the generator.

"You have more than proven yourself worthy of your boasts," Talia said from across the darkened room. Bruce swallowed hard and pulled his trademark sunglasses off his face slowly. He had just finished up a match with a member of Lew Moxon's newest stable with a resounding victory…again. 

The crowds had begun chanting his name even as his _Batman_ had marched into the arena. Despite the fact that he hadn't been able to repair his 'mech completely, Ra's had insisted that he fight the match. Bruce already knew about the big fight between the Legion and the Lazarus Pit and he would have thought Ra's would want to keep the _Batman_ in better shape. The stable owner had commented that it was better that Bruce keep his warrior's edge and let other people worry about the equipment.

The match had been proceeded by the usual banter between Bruce and Talia, but the discussion afterwards had been much different. Talia had been direct, informing Bruce that she had begun to develop feelings for him. For a moment, he had been reminded of Selina and he had realized that it had been many months since he had thought of her.

Talia approached him and he could catch the scent of her perfume in the air. "My people are not ones to mix words, we believe that hesitation is a sign of weakness."

"Well, we wouldn't want you to be weak," Bruce replied as she placed her hands on his chest. He was still clad in the shorts and cooling vest uniform of a MechWarrior. Her hands went under the vest and started playing with hairs he had grown over the past few months. 

"I assure you, Beloved," she said in a lusty voice, "that you will find me far from being weak."

That was the second time she had referred to him as "beloved" and he wondered what significance the term had among her people as she referred to them. Her father was of obvious Arabian ancestry and it showed in her olive complexion and dark hair. He wanted to ask her, but he was afraid of ruining the mood.

In fact, had she not invited him to her private apartment, he was planning on heading to Warrior's to have a drink with Joe Chill. Ra's had tapped the former champion for the special match with the Legion and it was a perfect excuse for Bruce to try and get more information. He was convinced that the older MechWarrior knew who would have killed his parents, but he was afraid that too many questions at one time would reveal his true identity.

He had already ran down two names that Chill had dropped, though one of them hadn't been piloting assault 'mechs at the time. The first was dead already, but Bruce had been able to discover that he had been in prison in the Metropolitan Suns when his father and mother had been murdered. The second one had been a female pilot who had been six months pregnant. He doubted that she would have put herself and her unborn child at such risk.

  She took his hand and began to lead him towards not the bed, but the balcony instead. "Come with me and let us breathe in the night air to cool our flaming passions." He listened to her speak and he found it enchanting. She was more likened to a princess than the daughter of a businessman. "The night shall be for the fulfilling of the heart's promise, but the dusk calls for contemplation."

The stepped out onto the balcony where they had a view of the entire Thangarian Sector. Bruce was surprised by how simple, yet elegant the architecture was. It reminded him of pictures of ancient Terra, back before even the rise of Christianity. Even the colors made him feel as if he were looking at a vast desert. No wonder she and her father chose to live here.

It was beautiful, yet he longed for the green open fields of New Gotham. He had been gone for so long now and was only beginning to make any headway into his mission. Would he find his answers? He worried about returning to Justice City empty-handed, especially after the way he had carried on. "The night falls on us," Bruce said as he took her hand, "but it you who envelops me in their embrace."

She laughed. "Again you speak with the tongue of an aristocrat and again you betray the disguise you wear." He said nothing but she could read the confusion in his eyes. "Oh, no, my beloved, your real name remains a mystery if not your motives. We have heard of your questions, your…investigations. You are true detective as my father says." She smiled and stepped over to give him a warm kiss. 

She pulled away slowly. "My father believes you seek your fortune, that you hope to make a man of yourself away from the shelter of money. You seek to emulate the greatest of the warriors of Solaris, past and present."

Bruce still kept his tongue silent and she took it as a cue to continue. "My father is a complex man who believes that all men are as complex as he. Men are normally very straightforward. You seek something, that is true, but it is not a name. I see the way you react to the crowds, it pleases you but does nothing more. You already have your pride."

"Pride makes me do stupid things," Bruce finally said. "I do seek something, but it is something very personal."

"Only two things cause a man to speak such words," Talia responded as she allowed herself to be wrapped in his arms. "Revenge and love." She looked up into his eyes and he refused to hide the emotions raging in them. "I can not tell which, but I suspect the former as opposed to the latter."

He did not speak for many moments. "I'm not sure which it is anymore. Both make me cry late at night; both drive me each day. Either can be used to fan the flames in my soul."

They held each other without another word until, with the stars shining brightly in the night sky, they entered the bedchamber proper.

Ra's turned off the monitor and allowed his daughter some privacy; he had no wish to indulge in voyeuristic obscenities. She was entitled to her time with the man who had managed to steal some of her attention away from him. Silently, Ra's saluted Matches Malone, for only a truly incredible man of character could ensnare his daughter's heart so easily.

What it was about the man that stirred desire in his daughter, he could not guess. Ra's was jealous that he had not loved Talia's mother with the same passion, but she had only been a tool for his lust. He considered the words they had spoken and it presented an almost irresistible mystery to him. He wanted so much to discover who Matches Malone really was, but not so he could use it against him, but just simply for the knowledge.

It would give him power over the man even if the man did not realize it. Matches Malone was a warrior seen very rarely in the Inner Sphere, the product of great genes. He had first suspected that Malone was Clan, but his undisciplined nature dismissed that easily enough. Raw talent was not enough to make a Clan warrior.

Whoever he was, it would wait until after the Trial with the Legion. He had already gotten Joe Chill, a man highly recommended by Lew Moxon. Ra's suspected that the former champion may very well have been the assassin sent to kill Thomas and Martha Wayne a decade before. Ra's did not know because he really did not care. Wayne and his whore were dead and eventually the truth about the death of Bruce Wayne would come out.

Melissa Steiner, ignorant of Ra's manipulations, would push the people to declare House Steiner the ruling house of the Commonwealth. No doubt Alfred Pennyworth would put together a mercenary army to try and take the throne back; men did not give up such power without a good reason! By defeating the Legion, Ra's was assured at least one of the better units was out of action. If the ploy worked, maybe he would challenge the Dragoon's as well.

The thought brought a bitter smile to his lips.


	13. Chapter 12

DC Heroes: MechWarrior I

By: Christopher W. Blaine

e-mail: darth_yoshi@yahoo.com

DISCLAIMER: All characters and situations contained in this story are ©2002 by either DC Comics Inc. or WhizKids and are used without permission for fan-related entertainment purposes only. No profit is made from this story. This original story is ©2002 by Christopher W. Blaine and may not be reproduced either in part or as a whole without the express permission of the author.

Chapter 12 Romanus (Thanagarian Sector) Solaris Gotham Commonwealth January 26, 3032 

Bruce put back another beer, his third of the night and nodded to the MechWarrior that sat across from him. The man had a patch over one eye and several stitches in his face but seemed to be thrilled to be drinking with the man who had thrashed him earlier that morning. It had been a battle touted as "Assault Mech Pilots Engaging in Scout Mechs!" 

It was actually a way that several of the stables made a little extra cash by putting their more popular warriors in smaller and more delicate BattleMechs. This provided time for technicians to repair the bigger machines and Bruce knew that his _Batman_ was in serious need of major repairs. 

The two, Bruce representing the Lazarus Pit and his opponent, Lobo, who hailed from a newer stable called Young Justice, had battled in two _Spider_ 'mechs that had formerly been part of the Solaris Security Force. Bruce had won, but only barely. Though he had managed to shoot the legs out from under Lobo, the other MechWarrior had actually climbed out of his cockpit and assaulted Bruce's _Spider_ with a wrench.

A lucky strike had nailed an exposed coolant line and Bruce's machine, already severely damaged from the fight, almost shut down. The judges had to call the fight in light of Lobo's refusal to give up and Bruce was awarded victory based upon points. Lobo considered that an honorably victory. "As long as them bastards don't say I freakin' gave up!" he said again as he polished off his twelfth brew. He wiped foam from his mustachio and grinned. "You got great big balls, you know that, Malone?"

Bruce inclined his head. "I wasn't the freak that attacked a 'mech with a wrench." He popped a wooden matchstick in his mouth and settled back. From behind his sunglasses, he was busy watching two GreenStar Corpsmen who were also watching him. He knew that they wanted to talk to him and he could guess why; they were ordered to take him to the nearest spaceport and put him on the first flight out.

It made sense that it was GreenStar; Bruce was pretty sure that Oracle still had not penetrated his disguise and he had no doubt that John Stewart would keep his secret until death. GreenStar desperately wanted to fix the broken relationship it had with the Gotham Commonwealth, a relationship soured by his father's attitude towards the religious group. Thomas Wayne distrusted anything that wasn't under his rule  

By aiding Alfred as they had been, Bruce held no illusions about the type of payment Guardian Ganthet was hoping for: normalization of relations. Bruce didn't mind; unlike his father, he admired GreenStar's dedication to try and preserve not only technology, but also a more moral way of life. The GreenStar members were bound by their oaths to try and keep the ideals of the Justice League alive. Sometimes they did a great job at it, but sometimes they didn't. Like any powerful body, GreenStar had its share of corruption and scandal; it was those very things that had led Thomas Wayne to severely limit the power GreenStar had in the Commonwealth.

"Yeah, but I figured what the hell, ya know?" Lobo responded. He waited until the waitress had brought him another round before continuing. "It wasn't like you'd step on me, would ya, ya bastard!" He laughed, sounding like some beast of burden passing wind and then turned to slap one of the barmaids on the rump. He got a scowl for his trouble, but it only made him laugh more.

"Why do say that? Maybe I would have squashed you," Bruce said with a smile.

"Nah…everyone knows your rep by now, Malone; you're one of d'em honorable bastards," Lobo replied. "No'tin wrong with that so long as ya don't wimp out, ya know. You fight with balls man!" He stood up and pounded his chest. "Balls!" he screamed.

Bruce maintained an even expression even as the larger man stumbled slightly. "Gotta go drain the coolant from the _Awesome_, if ya know what I mean," Lobo mumbled before tripping away towards the men's room.

When he was out of sight, the two GreenStar men stood up and walked over. They didn't bother to ask to be seated. Bruce noted that they wore the expressions of professional soldiers and he was vaguely reminded of his time at the Gotham Academy. These were hardened veterans and he wondered where they would have gotten any battle experience. GreenStar had not been involved, militarily, in the Succession Wars. He noted the Magistracy of Thymerscia patch on one of them men's sleeve. "A long way from home, aren't you?" he asked.

"May the green flame shine about you," the man replied, catching the direction the sunglasses were facing. He looked at the patch. "Not my home, but someplace special nonetheless. Fought there in '25 when they tried to take over our HPG stations. I was with the 90th Darkstars at that time."

His partner leaned in. "I am Corpsman Kilowogg and this is Corpsman Sinestro; we have been ordered to escort you to the spaceport, your majesty."

Sinestro smiled and Bruce decided at once that he did not like the man. He was thin with a widow's peak of jet-black hair. His long, pointed nose and severe acne scarring made him look disheveled. Kilowogg, on the other hand, was a large brute of a man and Bruce reasoned that he could only fit in the largest of BattleMechs. "I'm not going," he said quietly.

"You majesty," Sinestro said with obviously fake respect, "you do not have a choice. Either you come with us or we'll drag you out of here."

Bruce pushed his sunglasses down his nose and eyed the Corpsman. "Who? You?"

Sinestro started to reply, but Kilowogg laid a giant hand on the man's forearm. It looked so fragile that Bruce imagined Kilowogg could snap the bones like twigs of he wanted. "Please forgive, Sinestro, he has a habit of being very frank. It has not served him well since he joined GreenStar."

Bruce noted once more the uniform of Sinestro and saw there were actually several campaign patches, while Chilidog had none. Yet, it was obvious who was the senior man among the two. No doubt Sinestro's mouth kept him from advancing. "I have not finished my business here, gentlemen, and I do not intend to leave until it is."

"We have very specific instructions…"

Bruce stood up. "I do not serve GreenStar and I do not care about your instructions."

"You won't be so smug when we tell Oracle where to find you," Sinestro threatened. It did not have the desired effect as Bruce was already expecting that particular ploy.

"So tell them, Corpsman Sinestro, and when I take the throne of the Commonwealth I will continue relations with GreenStar just as they are." He smiled and put his palms down on the table. He leaned in close enough to Sinestro that the smaller man began to sweat. "And when the Primus asks why I'll tell him about a mouthy little bastard named Sinestro who dared to threaten a House ruler."

Bruce did not wait for any sort of reply, instead walking directly over to the bar where Joe Chill stood washing a glass. He ordered another drink and Joe made conversation as the two Corpsmen exited the tavern. "You have some very interesting friends, Malone."

"Not my friends, green-loving freaks," Bruce said under the foam of his beer. He changed the subject. "I hear you'll be fighting for Ra's Al Ghul against the Legion."

Joe leaned in. "Keep it down, buddy; this isn't a sanctioned match. This is grudge fighting."

Bruce grabbed some nuts and popped a handful into his mouth. "What the hell? I thought I was gonna get paid!"

"You really are green aren't you? This is a death match…I thought you knew that," Chill said. He looked at Bruce's eyes but only saw his reflection in the lenses of the glasses. "Have you ever killed anyone before? Have you ever seen anyone die?"

Bruce swallowed hard and responded with a voice on the verge of freezing over. "Have you?"

Joe shook his head. "It ain't nothin' to brag about, kid. People get killed in the games; people get killed outside the games."

Bruce looked hard into Joe's eyes and now understood the depths of the sadness he saw displayed there. Joe hadn't gotten out of competing for the reasons he had stated before; Bruce was sure the man had never been afraid of dying. Joe Chill had killed someone and that had changed his life forever. In a way, they were kindred spirits. Both of them hated the killing that went on throughout the Inner Sphere, but it was just for different reasons.

"So, why this thing with the Legion, why are you joining up?" Bruce asked.

Joe sighed and put the glass under the bar. "Kid, sometimes when we're young, we want to prove to the whole world what a man we are. We do stupid things, like what you're doing now. When that happens, we start to create a past that we try to outrun. Let's just say I have a past I can't."

"It must have been quite a bit of hell-raising here in your day."

Joe smiled. "You don't know the half of it. The new gaming houses started up the new rules of combat in order to keep the riff-raff out. Man, did we have some of the dregs of society here."

"And there you were in the middle of it. You must have hung out with the baddest of the bad," Bruce said, trying to get Joe to open up more. He was sure he was on the verge of discovery. "Who was the worst?"

Joe's voice was monotone. "Me."

Something in the way he said made Bruce stop and his mind, hardly dulled despite the beer, began to line up all of the clues he had gathered over the many months. Every single one pointed to the man in front of him. Was it possible that his confident, that the man whom he had taken a liking to was the man who had murdered his parents?

It made perfect sense. Joe retired right after the death of the Archon and he was a top-rated Assault-Class 'mech pilot. But what reason would he have had to do it? If it were to generate a reputation, he obviously hadn't bothered to. Could it have been political?

Bruce looked around the bar at the pro-Commonwealth photos and posters, something you normally wouldn't find in the Thanagarian Sector. If anything, this was a man dedicated to the Commonwealth.

Unless, of course, he had murdered its leader!

"I have to go," Bruce said, stumbling away from bar. Joe said something, but Bruce's mind blocked it out as his brain poured into overdrive. Facts, dates, specifications and all other forms of data he had picked up were in a maelstrom within his head and he needed to get out of the confines of Warrior's. 

He was out in the street before he knew it, looking so much like a typical drunk. His eyes were filling with tears as the sheer stupidity he felt for not recognizing what was clearly in his face all along. He had failed his parents by becoming a friend, worse yet, an ally to the man who had killed them! He stopped at an alleyway and threw up.

He continued for several minutes until there was nothing more to come out. "Oh, how the mighty have fallen," a voice said from behind him.

Bruce turned to see a tall, blonde-haired woman in a blue and black jumpsuit. Her hand rested on a needler pistol. "This is Lance, I've got him," she said and Bruce noted the throat mike.

Undoubtedly she was an Oracle agent. Sinestro was quick to keep his word. "You don't have sh…"

"Watch the mouth, your highness," she said with a smile as she offered her hand. "I am a lady after all."

Bruce stood up and looked around. The street seemed to have become immediately deserted. "We're lucky to be all alone," he said.

"Don't get your hopes up, I'm happily married," was the response followed by a wink. "I've got a daughter getting close to become a woman. You two would make a cute couple."

"Are you here to take me home or marry me off," Bruce asked as he looked around for a way out.

She shrugged. "Figured if I found someone decent I should try. She's got this dream about following in her mom's footsteps." Bruce eyed her but could not swear to her age. She had to be at least his own mother's age but she looked younger than him. Maybe it was the exercise program in Oracle training. "You do realize you are coming home?"

"No, I'm not," Bruce answered flatly. 

"Aw, c'mon…she's not ugly…think of me with bigger boobs," she joked. There was a smile on her face but the look in her eyes told Bruce that she would kick his tail if he tried to get away. 

A thought came to his head, a desperate one that men often got in times of dire straits. "I order you to go back to New Gotham."

She kept the smile and rubbed the butt of her pistol. "Nice try, but you haven't assumed the throne yet and therefore have no direct authority over Oracle. You do so remind me of your father, you know that?"

Bruce rubbed his forehead. "Do you even know why I'm here?"

She nodded. "Yes, you're in hiding because of the assassination attempt." 

Shaking his head, he reached out for her free hand and pulled her into the alleyway. He half-expected her to just knock him out, but she was a professional. She understood that all he wanted to do was talk.

To any passerby's they would look like two people engaged in a secret conversation in a darkened alley. Extremely common on Solaris; it was the stuff that took place out in the open you had to worry about. "I was here long before that and you know it!"

"The official story is going to be…"

"Damn the official story! I am this close to finding my parents' killer!" He leaned in close to her and she backed away. He realized his breath must have been horrible. He kicked at a garbage can. Everything was falling apart. "I know who did it, but I don't know why. I can't believe they worked alone!"

The agent shut off the throat mike. There would be hell to pay, she knew, but she somehow knew that this was the right thing to do. "You're father was an inspiration to me; in fact, I had a crush on him. Hell, most of the girls in my school did. There have been some changes going on back home as well; I'm not sure what but I do know several highly-placed officials are being put out of office by the Archon-General."

She sighed. "I've been trying to find you for three months; they rotate us out every six. The last two agents just plain gave up and I was about to when I got an anonymous tip of who you were pretending to be. I have orders from James Gordon himself to get you out of here."

"I'll just come back the first chance I get," Bruce pleaded. "Look, all I need is a week at the most."

She shook her head. "I just told them I found you!"

"So…lie and tell them you made a mistake," he begged. "I need this! I can't rule knowing that I let that killer get away."

She looked at him and looked inside herself. If she had the chance to bring Thomas Wayne's murderer to justice, wouldn't she risk it all to do it? Wasn't that why she joined Oracle, to protect the royal family and the Commonwealth? She hated to admit it, but she liked this man, this soon-to-be Archon. He wasn't a whining, snot-nosed royal who expected everyone to wait hand and foot on him. This was a guy who was risking his life to see justice done.

It was inspiring. 

"And when I lose my job?" she asked, tapping a foot on the ground. Bruce noted that she was wearing three-inch heels. On Solaris of all places!

"I'll get you another one," he offered.

"And my daughter?"

He shrugged. "I'll get her a date. She can't be that homely can she?"

"I never said she was homely! I just said I wanted her married and pregnant before she started getting into trouble," was the response.

"Fine! Whatever, Agent…"

She held out her hand. ""Lance, Dinah Drake Lance." She started thinking about what she was going to report to the station chief, but then remembered she was married to him so it didn't matter. She just had to convince him to lie to his superiors. "I guess we'll be working together, highness."

"Call me Matches, okay?"

"Oh, I get it, and I'm supposed to be some oversexed MechBunny that follows you around…"

"I've got a girlfriend, okay?" he was quick to respond.

"Oh, yes, I forgot…but then I guess you did as well," Dinah said with a smirk.

"What do you mean?"

"Selina Kyle? The girl you left back on New Gotham," Dinah said as she recalled the intelligence briefing on the Archon-Prince. "Your file indicates you two were rather close."

"Not that close," Bruce pointed out.

"I guess not considering she got married last week."

Bruce wanted to reply, but the words never came from his mouth. What had he expected, running off and disappearing as he did. Certainly he hadn't been celibate; certainly he now thought of Talia as his girlfriend now…her "beloved". 

So why did he feel so bad that his good friend was finding happiness?


	14. Chapter 13

DC Heroes: MechWarrior I

By: Christopher W. Blaine

e-mail: darth_yoshi@yahoo.com

DISCLAIMER: All characters and situations contained in this story are ©2002 by either DC Comics Inc. or WhizKids and are used without permission for fan-related entertainment purposes only. No profit is made from this story. This original story is ©2002 by Christopher W. Blaine and may not be reproduced either in part or as a whole without the express permission of the author.

Chapter 13 Justice City New Gotham Gotham Commonwealth January 27, 3032 

Jim Gordon put out his fifth cigarette since arriving, throwing a cautious glance to the Archon-General as he reviewed the video message that had arrived earlier via the official courier of Guardian Ganthet of GreenStar. On the General's viewscreen was the visage of Larry Lance, station chief for Oracle on Solaris. Jim listened for what seemed like the hundredth time as Lance explained the situation concerning the wayward heir to the Commonwealth throne.

"…most respectfully regret to inform you that at this time, apprehension of the man local GreenStar agents identified as being the prince is not possible at this time. If we try to move in, no matter how subtle, we fear that the prince's identity would be revealed and he would be in immediate danger. Agent Lance, my top operative and most trusted confidant, is maintaining surveillence of this Matches Malone. She is being assisted, per your agreement with GreenStar, by Corpsman Stewart of the 15th Green Lantern Corps. We hope to be able to secret the prince out within the week."

Alfred turned it off and spun his chair slowly around. "First Selena runs off to elope and now Oracle wants to play footsies with GreenStar." Jim noted that there appeared to be more grey in the General's hair. The weight of his responsibilities were aging him. "Does anyone in this bloody government remember that I am still technically in charge?"

Jim wasn't sure how to answer. Selena had become a trusted advisor to the General in the months since the prince had run off to Solaris; Jim saw their relationship as becoming like father and daughter and the Oracle man saw that Alfred Pennyworth regretted greatly having never settled down to have his own children. In fact, her running off to marry , along with the letter of resignation concerning her commission, stunk of "piss-poor judgment" as the General had put it.

Her loss was putting undo pressure on the General and Jim had no idea how to deal with it. Selena had been the last person he had expected to do something like this and he shared the same horror that Alfred had experienced. He could only put it to the prince's disappearance. There was no doubt she had been attracted to him and he had seemed to return the attention. His abrupt leaving must have shaken her more than anyone could have guessed. "I realize it, sir."

Alfred nodded but did not smile. "He got them, you realize that?"

Jim inhaled, savoring the nicotine rush. His position in Oracle allowed him to get cigarettes made on Terra itself and the taste always calmed him down. "I suspected he used his charm."

"Indeed; damn his mother! Why couldn't he have inherited Thomas's boisterousness?" The General stood up and walked over to the window. He looked down on the lawn where his _Firestarter_ had sat over a year before, a present for the man he considered something akin to a son. "What assets do we have in the area? I dislike being indebted to GreenStar."

Jim pulled out his personal noteputer and typed in a command. The device vibrated slightly as it accessed the files stored within it. Every morning, his secretary would update the files for him prior to his arrival. "I'll be damned," he muttered.

"Well?"

Jim turned and popped his cigarette back in his mouth. "The JumpShip _Gotham Star_ is currently recharging in the Solaris system. It has several DropShips of the 3rd Order of St. Dumas onboard." The Order of St. Dumas was one of the Commonwealth's more mysterious military units. Three regiments strong, it was generally rotated between any of the border planets with the Free Atlantean League and New Gotham. New Gotham always had one regiment, at least, of every major military unit on planet for security purposes. It was the first official policy of Alfred's reign. 

"Who is the senior officer?"

Jim checked. "Colonel Francois Napole…career Dumas warrior. They have a Special Task Company with them."

Alfred considered all of the ramifications. If he did nothing, then it was likely that Oracle would pick up Bruce within the week and have him on his way back to the relative safety of New Gotham. There was the slight risk, however, that during that week, the traitors would inform their master or masters on Solaris that Oracle was on to them. There was even the remote chance that the traitors knew that Matches Malone and Bruce Wayne were the same person. 

By sending down House troops to remove the Archon-Prince, Alfred would be violating the pact all of the Houses had signed with the government of Solaris. Technically, Solaris was a member of the Commonwealth and he could put troops there any time he wanted, but it would probably cause undue economic havoc for the planet and all of the worlds that survived supplying Solaris with such simple things as foodstuffs. He had no doubt that the Thangarian nationals living on Solaris would take great offense to the placement of House Wayne forces on the planet.

He had tossed the idea of going to the Solaris government and requesting their aid, and there was no reason to think they would not grant it. Solaris was, after all, a loyal planet of the Commonwealth that just happened to cater to the needs of the rest of the Inner Sphere. Going to leaders of Solaris, however, would force him to let even more people in on the deception he had been weaving since the prince ran off. The deaths of John and Mary Grayson still hung over his head. They had not been given a proper state funeral and their young son could not be handling things all that well being locked away here in the royal palace.

Alfred had briefly considered sending Richard Grayson to the court of Emperor Alexi of the Metropolitan Suns. Though the two realms were rivals, he believed that Alexi would take the boy in as his ward. Alexi had no desire to see the Commonwealth break down into chaos and if it meant that he had to help keep the façade that everything was fine, so be it. The Luthor's wanted to conquer the Commonwealth as it was, not inherit a mass of planets on the verge of a complete breakdown. 

Jim seemed to sense the thoughts going through the Archon-General's mind, but he supposed that was his job now since he was the newly appointed Commissioner of Oracle. "If you want my advice, send the troops in. Bruce needs to be shown that this personal crusade is endangering the Commonwealth as a whole. He has put too many people in difficult positions so he can go about his merry way."

Alfred sighed and moved back to his desk. "I want you to develop the operational plans with this Colonel Napole; this will be a joint operation between Oracle and the military."

"If the local security forces give us trouble?" Jim asked.

"Under no circumstance is deadly force authorized," Alfred ordered in his most stern tone. "Those are Commonwealth citizens protecting a Commonwealth world. They will be treated as such."

Jim nodded and then bowed before turning to exit the room. Alfred watched his friend leave and then sat back down in the chair that had once been occupied by a man who had instilled great loyalty in him. He wondered if Thomas would have approved of his looking away as Bruce traveled down the dark road of revenge. There had been no way to stop the boy and if he forced to wait until he assumed the throne, then what would have happened? 

Slowly, Alfred saw that the Gotham Commonwealth was being eaten away from the inside. Some was not so much corruption as a political movement instituted by House Steiner. Alfred, being only a regent, could not battle such a foe, so he concentrated on eliminating the dead weight from the government. His hope was to turn over an administration ready to work with the young Archon-Prince as he brought the Commonwealth to its former glory.

His eyes fell to the dossier marked "Kyle, Selina" and he picked it up. Selina's  decision to get married and join up with the quasi-religious group led by Maxie Zeus had been so out of the blue it had nearly knocked him flat. Had she really been that lonely? He thought back to all of their conversations and realized that she had mistakenly put all of her hopes in Bruce and Bruce had let her down.

Wasn't he doing the very same thing now?

It really didn't matter; Bruce Wayne was the Archon-Prince and, by God, he was going to start acting like it.

"Merde," was the only comment that Francois Napole could think of as he read the classified HPG transmission. Looking at the time and date stamp on it, he realized that Oracle must have spent a sizable amount of G-Bills to get it to him this quickly. He handed the message over to his executive officer, Major Jason Steiner.

"Call me Suzy and screw me running," was the response to the message.

Francois nodded and regarded the major. Tall, well-muscled and possessing the good-looks of the Steiner name, Jason could have been anything he wanted. The Steiner name carried a lot of weight in the Commonwealth, especially in the last decade with House Wayne on the decline. Jason, however, had opted for religious life, albeit a religious military life on the order of the Teutonic Knights, but it was a far cry from what he could have been. Because of the sacrifices he had made, his opinion mattered greatly to Francois.

The commanding officer, on the other hand, had started life as a Darkstar, a mercenary in the employ of GreenStar. He had become clued in to Christianity while stationed on sacred Terra and had found the doctrine of GreenStar lacking. The Order of St. Dumas, the only surviving remnant of the Vatican Military Forces, offered him the chance to pursue something noble. Both men took their jobs seriously and the contents of the message assured them that the fate of the entire Commonwealth was now in their hands.

"The Archon-Prince himself," Jason said after whistling. It was ironic that a Steiner was now going to be trying to save a Wayne. Not too ironic, though; House Steiner craved to assume control of the Commonwealth, but their resolve to do it legally was ingrained in every member of the family no matter how remote. "We'll need a diversion in order to cover our entry."

Francois nodded and both men moved over to a holographic image table in the center of the command and control center of the DropShip. The Justice League had possessed giant holotanks that allowed command personnel to step into a virtual world based upon information relayed back by engaging forces. The technology had been lost sometime during the 1st Succession War.

"Two lances of _Batmites_ should be enough to get him, if we can catch him outside his 'mech. Information says he's piloting a _Batman_ in the games under the name of Matches Malone," Francois said as he read from a page of supplementary information. 

Jason shook his head. "What the hell is he doing here? This isn't where I would go if I wanted to hide."

Francois smiled. "You're not the Archon-Prince either." A yeoman walked up and handed Francois a current readiness report. "God help us."

Jason took the report and scanned it quickly. It was as much as they feared. "Most of our heavy stuff is down for maintenance. We have three lances of medium 'mechs and the _Batmites_."

Francois pointed at a small dot on the map being displayed. "There is an Order training center right here. No 'mechs, it's meant for light vehicle training. It was here long before any agreements were made. If we dropped our three lances of medium 'mechs here and made a stink about security…"

"Then the local security forces would respond in kind to tell us to leave." Jason looked down at the latest intelligence estimates for the Solaris Security Force. In order to respond appropriately, they would have to pull units off of their Thanagrian Sector in Romanus. "Chances are they'll send their heavies, too."

"We can sneak the _Batmites_ in on another DropShip, paint them with Free Atlantean League colors," Francois said. Jason raised his eyebrows; it went against the Order's standing orders to disguise itself as another military force. "Fine, we'll paint them black."

Jason was satisfied with that. "We'll need to secure transportation for the prince to get him back to the DropShip." He checked and saw that they had no civilian transports available. 

The commander nodded. "I'll take care of that; we apparently have a friend in GreenStar. The local garrison commander is helping out with this matter."

"No doubt hoping that Ganthet will be able to get his wrinkled hands in the Wayne cookie jar," Jason said with disgust. Like most members of the Order, he found the worship of technology to be blasphemous.

"Not every member of GreenStar is a true believer; some find it a noble purpose to try and salvage man's works," Francois stated. "Believe me, for a time I envisioned myself hooking up with the Green Lantern Corps."

Jason frowned. "Such talk is not productive, we need to be preparing the men. When do we start the burn for the planet?"

"Six hours. On maximum burn we'll get there in three days. Word is that the gaming stable that the prince is in is set up for a non-sanctioned match against the Legion."

"The Grey Death?" Jason asked.

"No, the other one," Francois said with a smile. "I doubt that Grayson Carlyle would allow his unit's reputation to be sullied in such a way. Undoubtedly someone has gone and pissed of Major Val…again."

Jason returned the smile. Major Val of the Legion was the biggest hothead in the entire Inner Sphere. He was an elitist who belonged to an elite, yet small, mercenary unit. He was one of the top hand-to-hand fighters in the Inner Sphere and all of that did nothing but add fuel to the fire of egotism that raged in the man's soul. He had never met the man personally, but his reputation preceded him by light-years. "Does the Solaris government know? Maybe we can put a stop to it."

"Won't do any good; unsanctioned, secret matches happen all of the time. Mostly it is to weed out the lucky ones and keep the truly skilled warriors. Sometimes its just an excuse to fight." He tapped the marker for the Romanus spaceport. "The Legion just put another DropShip down on the planet surface. That would most likely be their 'mechs."

"A lot of bribe money had to be paid…"

"Unless the government allowed it. The agreements signed between the Commonwealth and Solaris only forbid unauthorized military forces." Francois rubbed the stubble on his chin. "That's why the Green Lantern Corps are allowed there. It would be nice, however, if the Archon-General put a little pressure on the government to just let us in."

"If the prince wasn't there in secret, maybe he would. Did you read about the assassination of John and Mary Grayson on Blackgate?" Jason handed over the third part of the message. "They believe that it was an attempt to murder the prince."

"They could have sent him anywhere but here," Francois answered after reading the paper. "It doesn't matter. Prepare your men and equipment. In three days we touch down and you, Major, will go get our leader back!"


	15. Chapter 14

DC Heroes: MechWarrior I

By: Christopher W. Blaine

e-mail: darth_yoshi@yahoo.com

DISCLAIMER: All characters and situations contained in this story are ©2002 by either DC Comics Inc. or WhizKids and are used without permission for fan-related entertainment purposes only. No profit is made from this story. This original story is ©2002 by Christopher W. Blaine and may not be reproduced either in part or as a whole without the express permission of the author.

Chapter 14 Romanus (Thanagarian Sector) Solaris Gotham Commonwealth January 29, 3032 

Bruce stepped out of the shower, drying his dyed hair when someone coughed. He jumped back and brought the towel down to cover his privates. "Well, well, hail to the chief," Dinah laughed.

Bruce gave her an evil stare and stepped back into the bathroom to recover his robe and dignity. It was the fourth time she had snuck in and while it infuriated him, he also admired the way she was able to do it. Such stealthy movement would be a skill worth learning. "Have you ever heard of a doorbell?"

"Don't want your little sweetheart to see such a beautiful woman such as myself entering your front door," Dinah called back.

Bruce smiled. "There's nothing wrong with a grandmother visiting…"

"Zip it, sonny-boy," she said quickly. She waited for him to come out before continuing. "Your time is short. My hubby found out that St. Dumas troops are on their way down."

"Military troops? Here? Are they insane?" Bruce shook his head and briefly considered giving up and just going home. Then he realized that there was no way Alfred would have authorized deadly force, not when Bruce was in no immediate danger. "When will they be here?"

She shrugged. "Their DropShips are on a high burn in; they'll show up just before the match between the Lazarus Pit and the Legion starts. For the record, I strongly recommend you let me take you to a safe house to await the extraction team."

"No; Joe Chill killed my parents for someone and for some reason, I need to know why."

"How? He's off with that other pilot, Edward Nigma, on simulator duty. You won't see him until the match."

Bruce pulled on a white T-Shirt before checking his hair color in a mirror. It would due for now. "I plan on talking to him before the battle."

"What about Talia? You realize that not even GreenStar's whipping boy John Stewart is going to be able to keep the St. Dumas warriors from getting to you. He can't act officially, not against House troops. As soon as that match is over, the jig is up. You can't escape. I will be relieved of duty, as will Larry," she replied, reminding the prince that her husband, a career Oracle man, had put much on the line for him.

"I'm taking Talia with me," Bruce said matter-of-factly. Why not, he thought, especially since Selina had run off to get married. There was nothing to keep him from pursuing something more with Talia. 

Still, his conscience nagged him. Yes, he had feelings for Talia, strong ones, but he hadn't completely let go of Selina either. He wasn't sure if that was right or wrong and he longed for his time with Lady Shiva. There was order with her, work, sex, sleep; it was all so simple. Once you threw feelings into the mixture, everything got fuzzy. Talia appealed to the aristocrat in Bruce and he knew it. Talia was a woman who belonged in the court of a king. Selina was the bad girl, the one who showed you how to be a man and made you glad for it.

Talia was a woman you put on a pedestal and Selina was the one who watched your back. Bruce knew that his conscience was making him choose. Each woman represented one path. Talia was the path to ruling the Commonwealth in the old-style, from the throne with regal authority. Selina was the grab-the-bull-by-the-balls kind of leadership. Did the Commonwealth really need that kind of leader?

Thomas Wayne had been that way, just as his wife had been. Into battle he had rushed and all it got him was killed. Bruce had done much the same thing by running to Solaris. Was that what he really wanted?

"Do you honestly think that Ra's Al Ghul is going to allow that?" Dinah asked.

Bruce picked up his gunbelt, a precaution Dinah insisted on. Many MechWarriors carried sidearms on Solaris, though it was mostly for show. "What's that supposed to mean? He'd probably be thrilled to find out that he's gained the favor of the Archon-Prince."

Dinah shook her head and moved over to a window to look outside. She could just see John Stewart as he spoke with a vendor. "Oracle has recently looked into Al Ghul's activities here on Solaris. He has a lot of money for a man who doesn't seem to win very many matches."

Bruce gave her a dumbfounded look. She grinned. "You don't do a lot of research into people's pasts do you? Al Ghul has been running different stables here for two decades, yet he only has about a 25% winning record. Hell, you're the best thing to happen to him in a long time."

"Maybe he places large bets," Bruce countered.

"Or maybe he trains mercenaries. His MechWarriors only stay with him for a few months after training and then they move off to private armies. Most end up in personal bodyguards for nobles. We even have suspicions he has done work for the Steiners."

Bruce shrugged. "So maybe he thinks its time for a new ruling house in the Commonwealth, that isn't a crime. Maybe he invests his money wisely; you do realize that the Commonwealth has the most robust economy in all of the Inner Sphere?"

Dinah said nothing, realizing she did not have enough ammunition to win this battle. She saw some doubt in Bruce's eyes and realized she was watching the last vestiges of innocence disappearing from the younger man. It was a shame, she realized, because his viewpoint, his desire to believe in the basic goodness of all people was admirable. If he didn't have such a burning rage for revenge inside of him, he would have had all of the makings of perfect ruler. 

She decided to drop the subject for now. "You might want to ask her if she wants to go, sir. That means revealing your identity. That means that Joe Chill could potentially find out you are alive…"

Bruce held up a hand to stop her. "I know, and that means whoever hired him will probably want me dead. Good…it could bring the perpetrators into the open."

"Be careful what you wish for," she added.

His voice turned cold. "What I wish for, Ms. Lance, is that my parents were still alive and that my only problems were facing midterm exams. What I wish is that people would quit hurting other people for no other reason than jealousy and petty greed. What I wish is that I will have the ability to prevent evil from ever happening in the Commonwealth again! So please don't spout clichés and old Terran sayings to me. I want to face the people responsible for the murder of my parents; I crave it like a thirsty man craves water."

"And what then, my prince?" she asked. It was the same question Alfred had asked him so long before.

"Then I will kill them," Bruce answered.

"Have you ever killed anyone, Bruce?" she now asked, her voice softening. He remembered his conversation with Joe Chill and he saw in her eyes the same dulled pain that the bar owner had demonstrated. "Any man can kill; any man can seek revenge, but it takes a unique man to find justice," was all she said before he turned to leave.

"Colonel," Val said as he entered Monel's cabin, "request permission to speak."

Monel looked up from his paperwork and returned the offered salute. "No need to be so formal, Val," he said as he indicated the empty seat next to his desk.

Val remained standing. "Sir, the other members of the star have voted…"

Monel smiled. "Have we become a democracy now? I know that Clark Kent envisioned the Clans to be that way, but Nicholas Kerensky had a different view. If I remember Clan history well enough, Nicholas won that debate." 

Val did not seem to get the joke. "Sir, we feel you should take the _Valor_ into battle."

"Unacceptable," Monel answered flatly. "The _Valor_ is an OmniMech; there are no OmniMechs in the Inner Sphere. If it were to fall into the hands of one of the Houses…"

"Sir, this goes beyond any debate about the sanctity of the mission. We are Clan, all of us. Some of us are Warden, some of us are Crusader; we are Wolves, Smoke Jaguars, Jade Falcons and all of the other remaining legacies of Kerensky. The Wolverines are to be eradicated no matter what."

Monel shook his head. "By fighting without honor? Even Clark Kent stated after the death of Nicholas, when the Wolves went after the Black Widows, that regardless of circumstance, victory must always have honor or it is not a victory." He had been expecting this debate ever since the DropShip with the Legion 'mechs had landed. It had cost the Legion plenty to allow the landing, and Ra's Al Ghul had to bribe several government officials. That left a bad taste in Monel's mouth, but honor dictated that since it was Al Ghul who had delivered the challenge, he had to ensure that the Legion could get their machines on the planet.

"I respect the memory of our founders as well as anyone, Colonel," Val said with open hands, "but this is a _Clan_ matter, not a simple mercenary contract. Our orders do not specify that we have to use Inner Sphere machines to settle Trials."

_Maybe because the Grand Council never thought we would be fighting such a thing in the Inner Sphere_, Monel thought. "There is no way they could hope to stand up against our superior weaponry; it seems dirty."

The junior officer just shrugged. "That is not our problem. Do you think the Grand Council will hold the OmniMechs back when we invade?" Monel conceded that it was a good point. He asked his executive officer what would happen if Wolf's Dragoons found out they had an OmniMech. "Freebirths! Let them challenge us, we will wipe the stars with their corpses!"

Monel wasn't quite sure of that. He knew more about the Dragoons then he let on to his people; perhaps it was old Clan Wolf sentiments, but he knew that Jaime Wolf had pretty much given up on the Clans and had joined the Inner Sphere. There was no proclamation, but it was apparent if you looked hard enough. If he were still part of Clan Wolf, Monel would probably think the same thing.

If he had remained part of Clan Wolf and had not been taken as _isorla_ by the Blood Spirits, he may have even been part of the Dragoons. It was no secret that he and Natasha Kerensky had been very, very close at one time. She being descended from Nicholas and he being descended from Clark Kent, no doubt they would have been a formidable team.

That was the past, however, and Monel was now a Blood Spirit, in charge of a mercenary unit of Trueborns. His duty was to uphold the will of the Grand Council. The _Valor_ OmniMech was Monel's ace-in-the-hole, a present from his adopted Clan to use against Jaime Wolf should he ever turn renegade. In fact, the Legion had an entire cache of OmniMechs hidden away just in case. The Dragoons had advanced weapons, too, but the Legion would have the edge in a stand-up fight.

"Besides," Val offered, his voice losing some of its edge, "how will they find out? The match is secret and the Dragoons are off planet."

"Maybe they have a spy within our ranks," Monel joked. The idea was absurd seeing that the Dragoons had very few Trueborn warriors and they were all known. The Legion members would literally smell a Freeborn if he tried to infiltrate the group. 

Val was not amused. "Sir, if you will not use it, I shall."

Monel's eyebrow raised. "Indeed. I suppose you will challenge me to a Circle of Equals over it. Need I remind you a forbade them in this matter?"

"Neg, sir; I would be challenging you for the position of leader of the Legion."

Monel considered the words carefully and realized the younger warrior was serious. He knew he could not defeat Val in hand-to-hand combat and there was no place for them to fight in 'mechs without drawing attention. It would be a pointless victory because once the Grand Council discovered that the Legion was being led by a failed cadet, they would recall the team. The members would then be dispersed into other castes, never to pilot 'mechs again.

Unless…

"You hope to win a Bloodname," Monel said. Clan law indicated that any warrior who killed a Wolverine warrior in honorable combat would be allowed to create a new Bloodname. The Bloodname was a surname that warriors fought for. A warrior could only fight for a Bloodname associated with their genetic legacy and there were only 25 slots for each name. A Bloodname guaranteed a warrior's genetic material would be used to create the next generation of Trueborn warriors. "And by doing so, the Council will have to grant you true warrior status."

"Then you see how important it is for us to win. Each of us wishes to challenge this Al Ghul, but we need you to agree to it."

Monel nodded. "And seeing how the Blood Spirits and the Wolves have taken my genetic materials, by Clan law or not…"

"You are of the Kent bloodline; you are a warrior twice accepted into the warrior ranks. You have more honor than any of us can ever hope to attain. We are failures, hoping for a second chance to prove that we can be meaningful additions to the Clans." Val's tone softened as he continued and his face began to pale as the blood slowly drained away with his anger. "If you take the _Valor_, you can deal with the other _surats_…"

"So you and the others can gang up on Al Ghul? What of _zelbrigen_, the rules of honorable combat?"

Val shook his head. "No, we would face him one at a time, in the Clan fashion."

"While I face four foes…"

"Three, technically; the daughter is a Wolverine freebirth warrior."

Monel nodded. Perhaps he did owe it to these people the chance to become true warriors. They had served him well, just as the mean and women before them had. Old age was making him soft he thought, but then he realized that he had never considered them anything else than warriors. Truly, they saw it quite differently.

His time in the Inner Sphere was clouding his views; he was forgetting what the Clans were and how they operated. It did not seem fair that these brave souls would be relegated to technical or worse duties once they returned home. "I will pilot the _Valor_; send the appropriate specifications to Al Ghul and then have the rest of the star meet here tonight so we may formulate an appropriate strategy. I am too old to be taking on three warriors at once."

Val smiled. "I still think the Wolf has teeth."

"Neg, Major; I am no longer a Wolf. I am Monel Blood Spirit and despite your flattery, I am getting old." Monel sighed. Were his better days far behind him now? He wanted to contact Natasha and ask her. In fact, all he really wanted to do was meet Natasha someplace private.

"You think about her again," Val said with a wry grin. "If the Clans ever allow marriage between warriors," he visibly shuddered at the thought but managed to keep his voice even, "I would dare say you two would be the most likely candidates."

"Perhaps long ago, before the Legion and the Dragoons. The truth is I loved her, perhaps I still do, a most un-warrior like trait." Val gave no suggestion he was surprised. Love between two warriors was considered frivolous in most Clans, except maybe the Ghost Bears, the only Clan founded by a married couple. To admit such a thing meant that Monel was placing great trust in Val to maintain the secret. Some members of the Legion would not take kindly to such a revelation. "I must be honest, Val, I am not comfortable with this situation."

"You are not turning mystic on me, are you Colonel? I expect as much from someone from the Nova Cats, Cloud Cobras or Goliath Scorpions, but a Blood Spirit?" Val put a hand on his shoulder. "Still, even if you do die, you have achieved all there is for a warrior to achieve. To die in the glory of battle would make you the envy of every member of the Legion!"

Monel nodded but kept the truth to himself. It was something he had felt crawling up his spine in recent years, something that he had never hoped to feel: fear. He did not want to die. But, he was a warrior and he couldn't very well live with himself if he did not make every attempt possible to eliminate the scourge of the Wolverine.

Still, he really did wish he could see Natasha just one more time.


	16. Chapter 15

DC Heroes: MechWarrior I

By: Christopher W. Blaine

e-mail: darth_yoshi@yahoo.com

DISCLAIMER: All characters and situations contained in this story are ©2002 by either DC Comics Inc. or WhizKids and are used without permission for fan-related entertainment purposes only. No profit is made from this story. This original story is ©2002 by Christopher W. Blaine and may not be reproduced either in part or as a whole without the express permission of the author.

Chapter 15 Outside Romanus Solaris Gotham Commonwealth January 31, 3032 

 The _Batman_ rocked back slowly from the blast wave, but any damage done was purely in Bruce's mind. The _Hatchetman_ piloted by Edward Nigma, one of Ra's Al Ghul's pilots, disappeared in crimson fireball as the fusion reactor consumed the metal, myomer and wiring that made up the BattleMech.

Bruce had seen the pilot eject earlier and actually found himself breathing a sigh of relief in the knowledge that Nigma had survived. They had spoken briefly, prior to the match, while the techs went over the machines. Bruce had found Nigma a mystery, a thin man who enjoyed riddles and dirty limericks, but who also got a flare in his eyes when he looked at his _Hatchetman_.

Very soon afterwards, the five 'mechs of the Lazarus Pit were marching out onto the field. Bruce had wanted to confront Joe Chill, but Dinah had strongly warned him against it. It had been the greatest test of his acting abilities so far in maintaining the façade of Matches Malone. He wanted to announce who he was and challenge Chill to a duel, but he knew deep in his heart he couldn't do that.

Not yet.

Now, he looked over to his left where Chill's _Grasshopper_ was engaged with an older Legion 'mech that Bruce could not identify. That was no surprise considering that the Legion had several Justice League era machines. BattleMech history was not one of Bruce's best subjects.

The initial salvo had come from four of the Legion mech's and it became apparent from the beginning that Al Ghul was there intended target. Regardless of the rumors surrounding him, Bruce believed that Al Ghul was an honorable man and the Legion's problems with him were not something that should be settled with weapons of war. Surely they could have all sat down and discussed whatever their problem was?

The _Black Vulcan_ that had taken down the _Hatchetman_ turned towards Bruce's _Batman. _The 'mech was in pretty good condition, but it was far from being a match for the 90-ton machine Bruce was piloting. The _Black Vulcan_ was a Keystone design, built for speed and lightning-fast attacks. As such, it was not heavily armed or armored. Bruce's readout told him the Legion 'mech was piloted by Commander Garth.

As Bruce fired his autocannon into the _Black Vulcan's_ leg, he noted that there were still only four Legion BattleMechs engaged in the fight. A quick scan told him that Colonel Bloodspirit was still in low power mode, sitting beyond the rise. Commander Garth let loose a PPC blast and Bruce was shocked back into the here and now.

His paint job was smoking and there was a jagged scar along his left shoulder where armor had melted and ran like blood. Garth's 'mech was in far worse shape, however, as Bruce saw it was walking with a noticeable limp. His autocannon had damaged the knee of the other 'mech.

Switching to his large laser, he fired again at the same spot, but missed and was rewarded with a blast of hot air that evaporated the sweat on his body and left him feeling parched. Two spinning contrails shot from the other 'mech and Bruce braced himself for the coming impact.

Two Inferno rounds exploded on the _Batman's _chest and the heat spiked critical. Bruce slapped the automatic shutdown before the computer could get a word out. The _Black Vulcan_ continued to try and put distance between them and Bruce could see he was moving for cover fire from the Legion _Impulse_ that was trading shots with Talia's _Manhunter_.

The _Batman_ moved sluggishly and Bruce hit the coolant flush controls. Suddenly, the _Batman_ ejected hundreds of gallons of cooling fluid onto the ground and small pumps whirled to pull cooler liquid from the reservoirs. He had hoped to get close enough to nail the _Black Vulcan_ with his flamer, but that would not happen now. His 'mech, however, was cool enough now that he could bring his own PPC online.

The giant capacitor hummed as it discharged its man-made lightning, and Bruce was hopeful when he saw the blast hit the weak rear armor of the _Black Vulcan_. Heat sinks burst on the Legion 'mech and Bruce had to wonder what the hell they were thinking bringing in a specialized 'mech to a brawl. _Black Vulcan's_ were normally assigned in complete lances and were notorious for running behind the enemy for a backstab strike. Four PPC blasts into the ass would ruin even the most powerful assault BattleMech's day. 

The _Black Vulcan_ tipped over and fell face-first into the dirt that made up the field. It started to try to get up, Commander Garth working the foot pedals with a fury, but it was to no avail. The knee was too badly damaged and the 'mech was so hot that the air around it was hazy. Bruce flipped on the general broadcast channel. "I salute you, Commander Garth of the Legion! You fought well, but you are defeated. I offer you the opportunity to leave this battlefield with both your life and honor intact."

There was a pause and then a voice intermixed with heavy breathing responded. "A lucky shot is all that was, but you speak true! You also fight with honor and sense that there is more to you than meets the eye, pilot Malone."

"Lucky shot or not," Bruce said as he stopped the _Batman_ over the still form of his enemy, "I am the victor."

Monel sat in his 'mech cockpit, calmly listening to the battle. So far, Ra's 100-ton _Odin_ stood its ground, not moving, just like he was. This was the way true warriors fought he thought, but then admonished himself for ever thinking of any person from the Not-Named-Clan as a warrior. 

The _Odin_ was big, but it was simply no match for the _Valor_. His personal 'mech had won dozens of encounters in Clan space, but this would be its first time in real combat in the Inner Sphere. He likened his relationship to his 'mech as that between an ancient cowboy and his horse. The Clans frowned upon personal ownership; the _Valor_ technically belonged to Clan Blood Spirit.

But if you asked Monel, it was his and his alone. 

Sitting there, he began to realize just how old he had gotten and how much he actually missed the Clan worlds. He may have been the cream of the crop compared to any Inner Sphere warrior, but it did not bring him the pleasure he always thought it would. Certainly he was honored to have been chosen to lead the Legion, but he longed for the days of ritual and rite that personified the Clan society.

This battle was nothing more than a bar room brawl on a 'mech field. His warriors were fighting valiantly, but so were the Lazarus Pit pilots. He had to admit that Matches Malone was exceeding his expectations in the way he was fighting. Normally, a warrior would have crushed a downed enemy, or at least most of the ones the Legion had encountered in the Inner Sphere. Not Malone, though; he fought with bravery and mercy, two very important _Clan_ traits, which convinced Monel that their cause was right.

There was no doubt now that Shiva was training Inner Sphere warriors, but he could not imagine why. Perhaps she had resented being placed with a unit full of failed cadets? Maybe she lusted for power beyond her station? Either way, because she had willingly chosen to ally herself with the Wolverines (for she had not taken her own life!), her life was forfeit. Her reasons were immaterial; all that mattered was restoring the stained Clan honor.

That meant that Monel would have to kill all of the Lazarus Pit warriors, an action he did not relish. Murder was not something he enjoyed, and the Clans did not support such tactics, but in his mind, the ends justified the means.

Talia's _Manhunter_ had lost an arm and the small autocannon that went with it, but she still had lasers and a PPC to bring to bear on the wildly moving _Impulse_. The Legion 'mech was the 2J model, which meant it had a rear firing large laser. That single piece of weaponry had succeeded in not only keeping the daughter of Ra's Al Ghul at bay, but had managed to slice off her arm as well.

She looked out to see her father's 'mech starting to move closer to the action. From the right torso of the massive machine came a puff of black smoke as the twenty-shot autocannon mounted there discharged depleted-uranium savagery. Major Val's _Quickdraw_ expertly stepped out of the way and continued a slow march towards the _Odin_.

Her first instinct was to go to her father's aid, to throw caution to the wind. Her father, however, was a demanding taskmaster and failure to eliminate her foe first would draw his wrath. If she wanted to be useful, she needed to eliminate the _Impulse_ immediately. 

Smiling, she switched to her twin medium lasers and fired, nipping at the heels of the Legion 'mech. She grunted in admiration; the pilot of the _Impulse_ was no fool and handled the 'mech with a practiced hand. Talia, on the other hand, had not been in a cockpit in nearly five years, not since she graduated from her sibko and left to join her father. Her failure to keep up with her skills was beginning to show.

Again, the rear large laser of the Impulse reached out to kiss Talia's 'mech and even more armor evaporated off of her frame. A light started blinking on her panel and she noted that the heat sink in her right torso was damaged. Her indicator was now hanging in the yellow. Her lessons from her 'mech training came back to her and she started reassigning weapons and firing modes.

"Talia," Bruce's voice called over her com unit. "Are you okay?"

"It is a little hot in here, beloved, but these dogs will not best us!" she replied. Another strike and her Guardian ECM Suite went dead. 

Before Bruce could reply, the _Impulse_ halted in its tracks and fired its medium lasers into the _Manhunter_, black scars etching into the ruined armor. Bruce saw the heat from the fusion engine pouring through the tears and his own sensors told him that the 'mech was in dire straits. The plan, as Ra's had explained it, was for the Lazarus Pit 'mechs to pair up with an opposing Legion 'mech. The Legion machines were in far better shape and the pilots were better trained, but the Lazarus Pit had the tonnage. Bruce had been assigned the _Black Vulcan_, but was not able to get to it before it scored the killing blow to Edward Nigma's machine.

The _Hatchetman_ had to have defects that were not detected to have fallen so quickly and Bruce was reminded of the fate of his father's _Batman_. Fear started to creep up Bruce's spine as he suspected sabotage and the sight of Talia's smoking war machine did not help matters. His training from Lady Shiva then kicked in and her words came to him in a harsh tone. "A warrior does not have the luxury of worrying; you must trust that your equipment will work as it is intended. To do anything else causes hesitation, and hesitation is the path to defeat."

Joe was still in his battle with the other 'mech; the two machines had closed in and were now pummeling each other. It was a bloody fight as chunks of armor and myomer flew into the air with each blow. Bruce felt a tinge of sorrow for Joe, as he could imagine the echoing sounds resounding through the _Grasshopper's_ cockpit. Then he remembered who Joe truly was.

Even as Bruce set up his LRM-15 to divert the attention of the _Impulse_, he had to wonder how angry he truly was at Joe Chill. He had become friends with the man and had come to understand him. He had noted the pain in the man's eyes and knew that the crimes of his past weighed heavily on his shoulders. Could even a murderer be worthy of redemption?

As fifteen missiles sailed out of his torso launcher, white sulfurous smoke briefly clouding his view, Bruce began to question his ability to seek the kind of vengeance he had at first desired. Could he really look Joe in the eye and execute him?

The _Impulse_ was wounded by the missile strike and Bruce did not hesitate to press the firing stud again as soon as he heard the launcher rearm. The _Batman_ rocked slightly with the salvo and Bruce watched in satisfaction as the damaged right side of the _Impulse_ began to lose piece of armor and other precious materials. The Legion 'mech was staggering now and Bruce keyed Talia's channel. "She's softened up now," he told her.

Talia responded with red lances of coherent light that bit deeply into the wounds caused by Bruce's missiles. "My thanks, beloved, but now you must pursue the leader and keep him from my father!"

Bruce nodded as Talia's machine slowly walked a little closer towards the _Impulse_. Both machines exchanged laser fire, neither having enough heat sinks left to allow for use of their heavier weapons, and bit-by-bit, they were eating each other away. Bruce was torn between his heart and his duty. He wanted to continue to aid her, but she was also correct in pointing out that with Monel Bloodspirit still out there, Ra's was in trouble.

Ra's watched in interest as Major Val continued his slow march towards him. He understood exactly what was going on; it was why he insisted that his Lazarus Pit warriors engage a single Legion 'mech. The first salvo from the four Legion 'mechs had spelled out exactly what the plan was for the legion members. 

When he had taken Shiva as his bondsman (in a contest he surely should not have won so he always wondered if she didn't have some previous ulterior motive), she had spent several days recounting to him the history of the Clans after the annihilation of the Wolverines. Ra's knew it was only a matter of time before the Clans came, but he also knew that it would not be every Clan. The Clans prided themselves on only allowing the very strongest the honor of doing anything, so it made sense that there would be several trials to determine which Clans would come to conquer the Inner Sphere.

If he hoped to survive, then he needed to ensure that he was in a position to mount a proper defense. This small trial was nothing more than a test of his abilities. The Legion was made up of not the best the Clans had to offer, but the absolute worst. These were the failures, the underachievers and the wishful thinkers. If he could not get trained killers to eliminate the bottom of the Clan barrel, what chance would he have against the real deal?

"Major Val, I am impressed your skill in avoiding my harassing fire," Ra's said as he switched over to his LRM-5 launcher. The missiles roared away from the 100-ton _Odin_, an original design by Ra's, and he waited to see how Val would react. As he predicted, the _Quickdraw_ moved to the left. Two of the five missiles struck home, but did little more than superficial damage.

"A very weak attempt, dog!" Val responded. "I will carry your black heart still beating to the Grand Council! The glory I will bring to Clan Smoke Jaguar will be recounted in the _Remembrance_!" The epic poem he indicated was meant to detail the life of the Clans. Each individual Clan maintained their own version. Even Ra's Wolverines had one. 

"I doubt very much that any member of the Smoke Jaguar warrior caste can even read the _Remembrance_," Ra's said as he increased his speed. The _Odin_ began to slowly close the distance between them. At 100 yards, the _Quickdraw_ fired its four Omnicron 4000 medium lasers. Ra's could hear the armor heating up and slagging; it was a most unusual sound and her looked down at his status screen to seen that Major Val had scored a direct hit with three of the beams on his left arm. The armor schematic showed yellow in his arm, but he still had plenty of armor to offer to the Legion MechWarrior.

Four spinning contrails told Ra's that he was being fired upon by Val's SRM-4 launcher even before the warning klaxon went off in the cockpit. The short-range missiles impacted on the _Odin's_ chest, but again no real damage was done. "You have a loud bark, little cat," he said with a smirk, "but it appears that you have no bite!"

Ra's twenty shot autocannon slammed into the _Quickdraw's_ right leg, just above the black and yellow Legion symbol. An entire armor plate buckled and then snapped off, flying away from the battle as if it were scared of what was coming. The last few rounds of the shot tore away the myomer muscle and nearly snapped the titanium bone underneath.

The four lasers tried to strike a counter blow, but Val's machine was already starting to topple. The ruby lances cleared the head of the _Odin_ by several meters and Ra's slowed his 'mech down to watch as Val fell. Val's cry of rage over the communications circuit drowned out the thunder of his BattleMech crashing to the ground.

Val managed to get his 'mech's arms out to try and stop his fall, and he succeeded until Ra's raised both arms and fired the Particle Projection Cannons located on each one. The _Quickdraw _seemed to explode in blue-white light as the _Odin_ let loose at point-blank range. The temperature in Val's cockpit reminded him of the stories he had heard of Hades. Fluids rolled off his entire body as if he were a holiday turkey being slowly cooked.

The _Quickdraw_ faltered and fell completely, patches of armor plating glowing red hot from the man-made lightning. Val refused to give up, despite the taunts of his foe. The beginning of the Honor Road was before him and he would not be denied simply because he was operating in inferior Inner Sphere equipment.

Major Val of the Legion, formerly of Clan Smoke Jaguar, never got the chance to realize his dream. Knowing that giving up any advantage he had, and considering Val's reputation for getting out of tight situations, Ra's quickly approached the struggling 'mech and raised a massive foot. 

It actually took two strikes to cave in the cockpit and kill Val, but it didn't matter to Ra's. All that mattered was victory.


	17. Chapter 16

DC Heroes: MechWarrior I

By: Christopher W. Blaine

e-mail: darth_yoshi@yahoo.com

DISCLAIMER: All characters and situations contained in this story are ©2002 by either DC Comics Inc. or WhizKids and are used without permission for fan-related entertainment purposes only. No profit is made from this story. This original story is ©2002 by Christopher W. Blaine and may not be reproduced either in part or as a whole without the express permission of the author.

Chapter 16 Outside Romanus Solaris Gotham Commonwealth January 31, 3032 

 "I am Colonel Monel Bloodspirit," Monel called out on the open frequency, "and I seek single combat with you, Ra's Al Ghul!" 

The leader of the Legion received a blast of autocannon rounds as a response. Though the _Valor _was well within range, the shells missed, instead rocketing off out of the field. "I will be more than happy to defeat you and bring honor to my clan, but I must first wipe your executive officer off of the foot of my 'mech!"

Monel smacked his control panel and then grabbed the control sticks. The _Valor_ faltered slightly as his rage interrupted the signals to his neurohelmet. There was no shame in the way Val had died, but to mock his memory by comparing him to waste left in a lawn was dishonorable.

What had he expected, though? These were representatives of a clan that had dared to rebel at the very beginning! These were traitors, malcontents and rogues. Bastard children of the clans!

The 80-ton OmniMech leapt into the air on jets of plasma, covering a distance of 60 meters in a single jump. His missile lock alarm immediately went off and he looked to see the _Batman_ firing at him. "Incredible!" Monel said as he pushed the throttle forward. Lining up a missile shot on a jumping 'mech was not a novice skill.

Obviously the surviving members of the Lazarus Pit were not going to allow single combat, but besides the _Batman_, they really weren't a threat. The _Manhunter_ was a mangled mess and the _Grasshopper_ was not doing much better. In fact, his scanners showed that the _Grasshopper_ was effectively dead.

The design had been plagued in recent years with weapons software bugs. A programmer from the Free Atlantean League developed a virus that would shut down the weapons and lock them out after a certain amount of damage was received to the 'mech. It was supposed to be an anti-war protest but it instead ended up costing several 'mech jocks their lives.

The _Manhunter_ was no threat; one good shot and it would go down. He resisted lining up his gauss rifle and letting fly the ferro-nickel slug. Before the sonic boom reached his ears, the projectile would blast through the _Manhunter_ and eliminate it. There was no honor in that. Even at a full run and ramming into his 'mech, the _Manhunter_ would cause him no harm. He had no proof that every member of the Lazarus Pit was part of the Not-Named Clan.

The _Batman_, however, was a different story all together. Matches Malone was the hotshot, a clan-trained pilot with some natural skill driving a 90-ton monster with minimal damage. Monel did note the puddle of coolant that the Lazarus Pit 'mech had deposited on the ground and he smiled. 

Monel let loose with his extended range PPC and slammed the approaching _Batman_ with the man-made lightning. The damage was not critical, but the metal plates of armor would suck in the heat. BattleMechs carried only a limited supply of coolant. Flushing it out was an interesting tactic, but it could also leave you open to overheating later as the coolant started to breakdown.

The _Batman_ rocked, but it still continued its march towards him. The _Odin_ was also coming, but much slower. All of the other 'mechs were either burning or sparking, except for the _Grasshopper_; it was trying to get back in the fight.

"Little Clan child," Ra's said in a mocking tone. "You will soon be my bondsman!"

Monel started to respond, but then his eyes looked out across the field. He suddenly realized what a fool he had been. His best fighters were either dishonored or dead; if anything, the Legion would be lacking in effective leadership for months, maybe years, even if he won.

The first thing that Clan Blood Spirit would demand is his immediate return to the Clan Space to give a full report. After that would come the council meetings between all of the Clans. There was no way that the Clans were going to allow even one descendant of the Not-Named-Clan to continue to survive. Like apocalyptic angels, the Clans would sweep through the Inner Sphere, killing everyone and everything in a mad rush to blast the traitors into atoms.

He saw the smoking ruins of Val's 'mech and he felt the sadness that was once overlaid with rage. His best friend was dead, killed because Monel allowed himself to be hauled into a trap laid by Al Ghul. The Legion had no place here; it was a battle they could not win because it was a battle without honor. 

"I have sacrificed honor for ego," he murmured. Only minutes ago he had been so sure that he was leading the Legion into a fight for glory. The _Batman _continued to move towards him and he considered firing a shot. His warrior training screamed at him to do so. Matches Malone had one fatal flaw; he relied too much on his bulk. He allowed his 'mech to absorb damage it shouldn't.

In a one on one contest, Monel was confident that his superior training and weapons, plus his decades' worth of experience would leave him the victor. However, like a typical Inner Sphere warrior, Malone was protecting his commander with his own life. Some may have thought that an admirable trait, and even Monel had to give a nod of grudging respect, but in Clan space, the exact opposite would be true. Commanders that had to be protected did not need to be in command.

He had already lost too much for his personal honor; if Clan Wolverine (and he shuddered as he thought the name) was alive and well and prospering in the Inner Sphere, honor be damned! He had to let the Clan Council know. 

He cursed himself for having had to have the death of a friend to open his eyes. Now he would have to find a way out of this situation alive. How odd for him, a warrior trained to almost welcome death in battle. He had to get everything in order of he was going to at least get a message to the Clans.

He took a cursory shot with his gauss rifle at the approaching _Batman_ and hit it square in the chest. The echo of the metal-to-metal crash reverberated throughout the area. He was sure that Matches Malone had felt that.

"Hey, kid, are you okay?" Joe asked over the intercom. Bruce spit out the piece of tooth that had chipped off when he had bit down a little too hard. That gauss slug had done some real damage. He had a warning light for his gyro and he was starting to get a headache behind his right eye. Obviously, his brain was trying to compensate for the shift in his center of gravity.

"What?" he snapped back.

"Easy, buddy, I'm not the enemy," Joe responded. Bruce's monitors told him that the _Grasshopper_ was limping over to him and the Archon-Prince realized that he wasn't moving anymore. He worked the foot pedals and the controls, but all he could do was twist on his torso. 

"Damn it!" Bruce screamed as he realized that the gauss slug had done the impossible: severed one of the primary signal cables running down from the cockpit, through the torso and into the leg actuators. It was a relatively simple problem to fix; all he had to do was get outside the 'mech and put a jumper in, but he didn't have the time. He was a target.

The _Valor_ seemed to pause and then the left arm came up. Bruce saw the capacitor for the PPC but when he zoomed up on it, saw it was of a type and configuration he had never seen before. There were several coils in the rear of the weapon and he wondered if that was to boost the power for extended range. He couldn't know for sure since he was well within range of even the cheapest cannon. He braced himself for another strike, knowing that his already spiking temperature would hit critical and he would have to override the shutdown sequence again.

"Pilot Malone of the Lazarus Pit, I have no wish to fire on a defenseless enemy," Monel said. "This battle is between Ra's Al Ghul and myself; none of the others should have been involved, not even a brave and worthy foes such as yourself."

Bruce keyed the commlink. "I appreciate the compliment; your reputation precedes you, Colonel. However, I am loyal to my commander."

"He does not deserve your loyalty."

Bruce shook his head. If anyone did, it had to be Ra's. Sure, Dinah had pointed out that the owner of the Lazarus Pit was most like a supporter of Bruce's political rivals, but that didn't mean they were enemies. So they disagreed on taxes! "You know nothing about me," Bruce responded.

"You are right and it pains me to be put into this situation. This battle should have been fought under honorable rules," was the reply. Then there was a sigh. "You master is fast approaching and I have no more time. Will you yield?"

"Hell no," Bruce replied. He still had some fight left in him.

The _Valor_ fired at him and Bruce immediately recognized it as a headshot. There was a very good chance he was about to be fried.

Joe looked out the shattered viewport of his _Grasshopper_ and saw that the _Valor_ was going to fire. He could catch bits and pieces of the conversation between Matches and Monel, but his commgear was going down quick. The 'mech he had been given to pilot had seen a lot better days, that was for sure.

He had noted that Matches had been avoiding him for days and whenever Joe did try to strike up a conversation, the young MechWarrior would give him the look of death. He wondered if somehow he had discovered that Joe was a filthy murderer and coward and no longer respected him.

Ten years before, Joe had been filled with political ideology about how unfair it was that the rich got richer and the poor ended up dead. He personified his hate for the upper class in Thomas Wayne and Lew Moxon had picked up on that. It hadn't taken too much coaxing to get a drunk Joe Chill to agree to murder in the name of social upheaval. 

Ever since that day he hadn't been able to look at himself in the mirror. His edge had been taken away and piloting a 'mech in the games would have been next to impossible. The only reason he was even here today was because he still owed Moxon for getting him off of Gotham safely. In reality, Joe could never know that there was never a chance of his getting caught. Thomas Wayne had far too many enemies.

He wanted to be here to protect Matches, whom he saw as his second chance at getting it right. Matches had all of the skill Joe used to have, but none of the bad habits. He didn't whore around; he didn't drink very much, didn't use stimulants and maintained a code of honor that was beyond Joe's capacity to understand.

He noted that Ra's had stopped and was probably watching the _Valor_ and _Batman_ just stand there. The leader of the Lazarus Pit made no move to come to his employee's aid and that ate at Joe's sense of morality. He was not going to stand by and watch another life get slaughtered for no reason.

The PPC fired and there was that loud sound of static and thunder. Monel had no doubt disregarded the dying _Grasshopper _and never considered it a true threat. Not that it could ever be; all of Joe's weapons were down for the count. Still, he was a big green hunk of metal and he could be used to buy the _Batman _some time.

Joe put forth a mighty surge and the _Grasshopper_ was in the path of the PPC blast. He saw it had been a headshot, a killing blow that only a well-trained pilot could ever try. He quickly calculated the difference in height between his 'mech and the _Batman_ and realized he was going to get hit in the top of his own head.

His eyes went up and his ears picked up the frantic cursing of Matches. It was garbled, but he found it ironic that the last words he would ever hear were "dammit to hell!"

The PPC blast struck the top of the cockpit, left open by a both a large laser and autocannon strike. The electrical charge blew out his nervous system before the heat melted his skin to his bones. Then the blast went down and hit the reactor. Waste heat blew up and further cooked Joe's corpse before the safeties kicked in and shut the 'mech down.

The _Grasshopper_, more a mangled mess of components than an actual BattleMech slumped down to its knees in front of the _Batman_. Bruce screamed out, realizing immediately that the man who had murdered his parents had just lost his life protecting him. 

His anger only intensified as the other 'mech fell to the ground, a smoking ruin and he came to understand that this entire affair was wrong. Even Monel seemed to sense it as he immediately brought the large laser that had been power up for the coup de grace. 

The only thing that could be heard for several minutes was the laughing of Ra's Al Ghul over the intercom. Then the leader of the Lazarus Pit spoke. "Kill him, Matches; he murders like the mercenary scum that he is."

Bruce heard the words and tried to find a rationale for them. People were falling down dead everywhere and there was nothing he could do about it. Or was there?

"This stops now!" he called out over the open frequency. The _Odin_ started to move in response. "I mean it!"

"You have my apologies for the death of your comrade, Malone; my intent was to overheat your 'mech. Your torso armor is still in good shape…"

Bruce glanced down at his status screen and saw that it was true. The way his 'mech had been running it would have shut him down or else he would have exploded. It was an attack that required precision, an almost inhuman partnership between pilot and BattleMech. Of course the Legion had always shown that kind of skill in the past.

"Forget about it. Too much blood is being spilled," Bruce said, thinking about Joe. Part of him wanted to be glad that the man was dead, but he couldn't bring himself to smile. Instead, he felt empty and cold on the inside.

"Not enough, I'd say," Ra's said, his autocannon opening up on the _Valor_. The Legion 'mech stumbled back in a shower of sparks and coolant. It had been a good strike and the left arm now hung limp.

"I mean it!" Bruce cried out. "I'm ordering you to stop!"

"What are you taking about, Malone?"

"Beloved, check your words," Talia called out. "My father may favor you, but he will not tolerate insolence!"

"I'm the one you need to worry about," Bruce replied. "I am not Matches Malone. I am Bruce Wayne, the Archon-Prince of the Gotham Commonwealth, you liege-lord!"

"What?" Ra's cried out, the _Odin _stopping and turning towards the immobile _Batman_. "You? You're the Archon-Prince?" He started to laugh. "Oh, the sweet irony! Today I will achieve all of my dreams!"

Bruce was about to order Ra's to be silent when the _Odin_ opened up with its LRM-5 launcher and laser arrays at the _Batman_.****


	18. Chapter 17

DC Heroes: MechWarrior I

By: Christopher W. Blaine

e-mail: darth_yoshi@yahoo.com

DISCLAIMER: All characters and situations contained in this story are ©2002 by either DC Comics Inc. or WhizKids and are used without permission for fan-related entertainment purposes only. No profit is made from this story. This original story is ©2002 by Christopher W. Blaine and may not be reproduced either in part or as a whole without the express permission of the author.

Chapter 17 Outside Romanus Solaris Gotham Commonwealth January 31, 3032 

 "Son of a bitch!" Bruce yelled as his missile lock alarm went off. He couldn't believe what was happening! Ra's Al Ghul, a man he considered a mentor and friend, or at the very least, a man deserving of some measure of respect, was trying to kill him.

The missiles struck home and the powerful explosions ripped his left arm off. It was strange, he thought, watching the arm fly away across the field, coolant and lubricant pouring from the wound like blood.

"Father!" Talia cried out and Bruce's heart jumped. She was coming to his defense; her battered and bruised _Manhunter_ limping to get over to where this three-way battle was now taking place. "Look out!" she warned.

The _Valor_ piloted by Colonel Bloodspirit fired a large laser, but Bruce noted that it had duration much longer than a standard weapon. He had never heard of such a thing and his fascination with the implications almost comforted him as he realized that Talia had been warning Ra's about the back attack and not trying to get him to stop trying to kill Bruce!

"Talia?" Bruce whispered into the mike as he fought to keep the _Batman_ going. It was a losing battle he could tell already. "Damn you father! Why couldn't you pilot an _Atlas_?"

"I am sorry, my Beloved, but this is something more important than you and I," she apologized as her machine kept moving towards them. He could only guess what she was planning to do. He knew that all of her weapons systems were down. Her armor was more memory than plate. It was a suicide march.

The _Odin_ moved to fire again, at Bruce, when the _Valor_ moved at a run towards the 100-ton monster. Bruce winced as the BattleMechs collided in a shower of sparks. Monel manipulated his right arm, putting the mechanical hand into a fist, and began hammering away at the rear armor of Ra's 'mech.

"Get off me, gnat!" Ra's bellowed, trying to twist his torso to a point where he could train some weapon onto the _Valor. _Bruce began to try to move the _Batman_ when the computerized voice came up. 

"Shutting down. Manual override by Lazarus One."

Bruce lost control, punching the control board first and then kicking at anything he could in the small cockpit. Lazarus One was the codename for Ra's. He had shut Bruce down by remote. The only thing working was the radio. 

The _Valor_ was finally pushed back and it fell, but the _Odin_ did not turn on Bruce. Obviously Colonel Bloodspirit had managed to infuriate Ra's enough that he was not going to be paying any attention to the dead _Batman_.

Why was Ra's trying to kill him? It had to do with the fact that Bruce had revealed his identity, but it still didn't answer any of the hundred questions running through Bruce's head. Was Ra's a Thanagarian agent? If so, it made sense to a point, but he couldn't swallow that House Hol wanted to start a war at this time. Alfred Pennyworth was more than capable of defending the Commonwealth.

He then reasoned that perhaps it had to do with Ra's' ties to House Steiner. Then he considered some more things. How was it that Joe Chill came into the employ of Ra's, of all of the stables. How do you get a former champion to fight for you if you didn't have something on him, or something on someone else who had something on Chill?

Either way, Ra's Al Ghul was connected to Joe Chill in a way that was not professional.

"Gotham Prime, this is Emerald Leader," a voice said over the radio. 

"Did you hear that? It's the Archon-Prince himself!" another voice called over the airwaves.

"This is an official GreenStar channel; your call signal has been recorded. Prepare for interrogation," the first voice said with a sinister tone.

Bruce looked down at his radar, but it was dead and he spit at it as he fumbled with his restraints. He uncoupled his cooling vest and began to manually work the hatch open. It wouldn't come at first and he cast a glance over to the wrestling 'mechs and was relieved to see that they were moving off slightly. Obviously Bruce was no longer a threat.

He finally got it open and inhaled the air that was filled with cordite and coolant fumes. He coughed and nearly threw up. The devastated stump of his left arm had caught fire and pounds of electrical insulation were starting to burn. The air was full of thunder as the _Odin_ kicked the _Valor_ in a leg that was showing the internal skeleton. Bruce was too far away to get a good look but he suspected that the design would be of great interest.

A laser shot gazed Bruce's shoulder and he fell out of the cockpit. He just managed to grab a handhold before he tumbled to the ground. His weight wrenched his shoulder and he screamed. Another shot hit the burned and scorched armor plate and the sparks it generated burned his face.

The shots were coming from a pistol, not a 'mech weapon and he desperately twisted and turned to see if he could spy who his assassin was. His heart stopped as he saw the _Manhunter_ standing a few hundred feet away, the top hatch open and Talia leaning with a sniper rifle.

A 'mech, painted green and black with a large lantern on its chest floated by on jump jets, plumes of plasma lifting it up and over the _Batman_. The _Emerald Gladiator_, a GreenStar BattleMech, trained its four medium lasers on the _Manhunter's_ open cockpit. In a blast of laser fire, John Stewart decimated the Lazarus Pit machine.

Bruce called out to Talia, but his voice trailed off as he came to realize that he could never really love a woman who was associated with his parent's death. A sick feeling came over him and he nearly lost his grip. Now was not the time for remorse and he reached over for another handhold to begin the long trek back up to the hatch.

The _Emerald Gladiator_ landed, sending up a great cloud of dust and dirt. The 75-ton 'mech torso twisted towards the _Odin _and _Valor_. In the distance, several tiny 'mechs could be seen pouring into the area. Bruce caught sight of them and recognized them as 15-ton _BatMites_. 

The cavalry had arrived.

John Stewart's voice boomed over his 'mech's loudspeakers. "Ra's Al Ghul! Colonel Monel Bloodspirit! You will cease this now. Commonwealth troops are now securing this area."

The _Odin_ fired into the _Valor's_ left knee that had already been severely damaged. The leg snapped off and seemed to just melt away into the cloud of black smoke. The _Valor_ fell on top of the _Odin's_ feet, temporarily trapping the BattleMech.

"GreenStar is the lackey of the Commonwealth!" Ra's retorted, his 'mech struggling to move the Legion BattleMech out of his way. "The son of Thomas Wayne will die today!"

Bruce managed to get back into his cockpit and closed the hatch. It was still warm inside and it smelled of desperation in the air. He heard the exchange going on between Ra's and John, all while five lances of the tiny Commonwealth _BatMites_ made a large perimeter around all of them.

Talia's 'mech was severed from the bottom of the gyro bay up, nothing more than a pair of legs and some hip actuators. Despite the damage the _Manhunter_ had received, there was no way it should have exploded as it had. He had little time to contemplate the final fate of Talia as the situation was becoming more drastic.

He tuned in the radio as John and Ra's were arguing over their external speakers. The transmissions told a very interesting tale. The Order of St. Dumas had apparently invaded the planet and the Solaris security forces were scrambling to head them off. There was also a lot of chatter about an alleged sighting of the Archon-Prince as well.

"Great," he mumbled, realizing he should have known that announcing his true identity would have been a mistake. Two _Batwings_ roared overhead and Bruce wondered if they were there for him.

"Energy spike in the Legion 'mech!" someone called over the open channel. Bruce's eyes went to where Monel's 'mech had stopped struggling. The _Odin_ suddenly started to jerk violently as Monel super-charged his fusion reactor. The _Emerald Gladiator_ moved to step in front of Bruce's _Batman_, blocking his view just as the _Valor_ exploded. 

There was a wave of blue-white light and Bruce closed his eyes. There was no need; the _Batman_ had polarized windows. Bits of metal flew into the air and showered the remaining 'mechs for at least a full minute. When the rain of debris finally let up, the _Emerald Gladiator_ slowly moved forward and Bruce was able to see the destruction.

He popped open the hatch and a blast of hot air hit him. The air was charged with static electricity and he saw a single _BatMite_ tipped over, a pillar of black smoke coming from it, a victim of shrapnel.

Before Bruce was a scene straight from his worst nightmares. BattleMechs lay in various states of death, puddles of coolant dotted the scene next to small brush fires started by lasers and PPC's. 

There was the remnants of Talia's _Manhunter_ and very close by was the _Grasshopper_ that served as Joe Chill's coffin. The _Valor_ was gone, completely destroyed in the tradition of fallen Legion 'mechs, and the _Odin_ was only half a skeleton. It was as if a giant knife had come down out of the sky and sliced away two-thirds of the assault 'mech.

The cockpit was gone and Bruce watched as the burned remains of an LRM launcher dropped to the ground, a final shed tear.

"It's over," John Stewart said.

Bruce could only nod.

Jim Gordon, Alfred Pennyworth and Bruce Wayne stood in the office of the Archon-General. Bruce still had red hair, but it had faded in the weeks since he had been evacuated from Solaris. "So, has the government of Solaris and the Order of St. Dumas made friends?" Bruce asked as he accepted a glass of brandy from Jim.

The intelligence agent nodded. "For the most part, though I suppose the bribes we paid to all of the officials helped out quite a bit."

"Indeed," Alfred said.

Bruce snickered and adjusted the collar on his dress uniform. He had returned to the Gotham Academy and demanded to take the final exams. He completed the BattleMech course with a full 100%score. The only medal on his uniform, however, was the Competitor's Gold from Solaris.

By now the news feeds had been filled with the story of Bruce's wins as Matches Malone and a story was being put out that it had all been part of an intensive BattleMech training program. 

The return of the Archon-Prince was tempered by the truth that John Grayson, hero of the Commonwealth, was dead, murdered by an unknown assassin. Oracle agents had spent the time since Bruce had left to scour the records that Ra's Al Ghul had, trying to determine who the assassin was that had been hired.

The trail had ended at the body of Lew Moxon, who had been shot in the back of the head with a high-powered laser rifle. "We still believe it was Talia," Jim commented on the subject. The daughter of Ra's Al Ghul had not been discovered, dead or alive. "How she avoided death we can't even begin to know."

"Which is not surprising," Alfred added. "The Legion 'mechs we recovered were nothing more than standard issue machines; the one piloted by Colonel Bloodspirit was completely atomized. We have no opportunity to examine any special weapons."

"It's like dealing with Wolf's Dragoons," Jim laughed. "In fact, the entire Legion has up and disappeared. They were negotiating a contract with House Luthor and just vanished."

"I here the autopsy on Major Val was interesting," Bruce said.

Jim nodded. "Healthiest person ever seen in the Commonwealth. Too bad someone stole the body from the military morgue."

Bruce sighed. "What about Al Ghul's connection to the Steiners?"

"I would bury it," Alfred told him. "The Steiner's are a powerful family, politically rabid. However, I cannot see them stooping to murdering your father. No, I would say that Al Ghul simply chose a political faction at random."

"For what purpose, though? He was a criminal businessman, he couldn't hope that he could achieve political standing by what he was doing." Bruce turned and looked out the window where his new _Dark Knight_ stood, its black armor gleaming in the moonlight. It was a new design by Ted Kord, meant to replace the defective _Batman_. "Yet, I always got the idea there was something more to Ra's than he let on. I just never believed that he would be capable…"

Jim put a hand on his lord's shoulder. "Whoever Ra's really was, he had deep pockets and even deeper connections. We've discovered entire 'mech facilities on various moons and outlying worlds. He had private armies…"

"Lady Shiva?"

"Whomever she was, sir, she has made good her escape as well," Alfred told him. "It seems that you were able to get your revenge though."

Bruce nodded, remembering Joe Chill's sacrifice. "I have to contemplate whether a man can make up for all of the evil in his life with one selfless act." He turned to the two men. "Joe Chill killed my father and mother, but the act also killed him. He lived a life of pain and guilt he couldn't escape. In the end, that guilt cost him."

"Maybe I'm a bit old-fashioned, sir, but I think if he knew who you really were, he would have changed his mind. More than likely he would have murdered you to get in good with Al Ghul," Jim said in an off-handed matter. The reality that Chill had been the murderer was more than unsettling; there was no way a loser such as him could have gotten away with what he did without governmental help.

Bruce held up a hand to halt any further conversation on the subject. "It doesn't matter. Joe Chill is dead. I don't have the proof, but I know he is the person I was after." He then turned to Alfred. "You were right, you know? Vengeance doesn't bring about the satisfaction I thought it would. I just feel empty on the inside."

"Good. It means that maybe you will think more clearly when the time comes to decide whether or not to commit troops to the field. The Order of St. Dumas did a lot for the Commonwealth," Alfred said as he handed over a folder. "I am submitting the names of the officers involved in your rescue for special commendations and compensation packages."

Bruce took the folder and tucked it into the crook of his arm. "A little light reading I suppose." He looked up at the clock. "I have to go sit down with Guardian Ganthet to work out a new GreenStar contract."

"Do not stay up too late; your coronation is tomorrow," Alfred reminded him. "And I get to retire."

"Maybe," Bruce commented with a smile. "What about Richard?"

"The adoption papers have been completed, sir, backdated as appropriate," Jim said. The son of John and Mary Grayson was to become the new Archon-Prince upon Bruce's ascension.

Bruce thanked both of them and moved to the door of the office, where Dinah stood in a crisp uniform. She winked at him and then fell in behind him as he entered the hallway. "I heard you and your husband are getting a divorce," Bruce said quietly. 

"Don't get your hopes up, handsome; it's only a rumor," she said as she nodded to the guards outside the door. They moved a few feet down the hallway and she started again. "My daughter is hot, you know."

Bruce ignored her. "What's the word on Selina?"

"She's hooked up with a cult. I can't find out if she went because she believes or because she's undercover." She handed over a folder and he quickly examined the contents. "Maxie Zeus?"

"Old pirate that pilots a _Zeus_ BattleMech. Conducts most of his business from the cockpit," she explained as the turned a corner. "He started a religion around himself and it looks like Selina fell in with him."

"We need to figure out a way to get me in there," he said.

"Jesus! Will you stop! You're the Archon!"

"Just figure it out," Bruce said as he handed back the folder. They stopped in front of a door that had both Commonwealth and GreenStar sentries. "Do this and I'll find someone to marry you're ugly slut of a daughter."

Dinah gave a little chuckle as the doors closed in front of her. It was good to have things back to some sense of normalcy.

She looked down at the folder and shook her head wondering how long that normal would last.


End file.
